


maybe we're perfect strangers

by starprediction



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (more likely), (sort of), Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Body Worship, Bottom Louis, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Famous Louis, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Triangles, M/M, Miscommunication, POV Harry, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Summer AU, Top Harry, music festival AU, nonfamous Harry, now for the sex tags!, probably a little bit of, set in the caribbean, there's no universe to me in which harry isn't that type of partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprediction/pseuds/starprediction
Summary: When an EDM festival in the Caribbean touts itself as a “life-changing and transformative experience,” Harry’s not too sure he buys into it. Regardless, Harry wants nothing more than to please his best friend, so he goes along for the ride. What he doesn’t expect is to fall head over heels for the festival’s organizer who Harry discovers is also the object of his best friend’s affections.in which it takes three days under the tropical sun for two men to fall in love





	maybe we're perfect strangers

**Author's Note:**

> wow, hello! not only is this my first ever big bang entry, it's my first published, full-length fic in the fandom! please be kind to me...
> 
> i don't believe there's anything to tag, but if sexual content makes you uncomfortable, you can definitely skip that part. you won't miss anything too important!
> 
> obviously, this is mainly HL, but there is mention of nouis. not much though. and just a sprinkle of ziall, because i love them.
> 
> this started out as an "ally wants to write a summer romance AU" which turned into a "what if we put a great gatsby spin on it" and has gone through so many evolutions in plot that it's culminated in this story. at one point, it was like pulling teeth to get this story written with too many days and nights of just Pure Stress™ and freaking out over deadlines and many days spent in starbucks and the amount of cash i've spent on venti iced vanilla lattes.... this is the product of all of that.
> 
> first off, i'd like to thank the wonderful [harrehleh](http://harrehleh.tumblr.com/) for being an amazing partner and for the beautiful art that accompanies this fic. you can see her works within the fic, but you can also see them on her tumblr. i'm glad and thankful to have worked with her, and i'm in constant awe of her contribution to this big bang (not only my fic but the other fic as well). please send all of the love to her since she deserves every second of your praise!
> 
> it felt like it took a village to write this fic.
> 
> i'd also like to thank justine for being an amazing beta and for kicking my ass constantly throughout the entirety of this big bang to get my shit together. thank you for listening to my plot ideas, for always being available for me to freak out over this, for taking every opportunity to ask, "ally, are you working on your fucking fic" when it's obvious i'm not, and for generally being a wonderful human being who i'm glad to have met and have gotten to know all thanks to this big bang. you've become one of my best friends through this process, and this fic is legit nothing without you. so, really, this fic is dedicated to you.
> 
> another big thanks to jamila for being another great beta of mine and being my soundboard when i ended up changing the entire plot of my big bang and for not dropkicking me when i told her i was changing the entire plot and all my love to nat for always being supportive esp when i first told her i was doing the big bang.
> 
> and i'd like to send more thanks and gratitude to rachel, isabel, kay, and every single person who has heard me bitch about my big bang. y'all keep me young and sane.
> 
> before i continue to ramble, [here's the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/latelatelouis/playlist/2StfN75QpxayKxOtPhaHON) i made for this story. consider it a soundtrack. the songs and artists mentioned throughout the fic are included in the playlist!
> 
> the title is taken from "perfect strangers" by jonas blue and jp cooper. i suggest you watch the music video, as the lead characters aspect gave me some hl inspiration for this fic!
> 
> thank you for letting me share this work with you, and feel free to leave comments, kudos, talk to me on my [tumblr](http://harryfeatlouis.tumblr.com/), or [reblog the fic post here](http://asstats.tumblr.com/post/161064069805/maybe-were-perfect-strangers-by-starprediction).
> 
> \- ally

Harry is not a stick in the mud. He likes to have fun, he swears he does, but Niall, with all his schemes and plans and machinations to drag Harry on an adventure, is asking a lot of him right now.

Harry barely moaned when Niall asked him to go on Europe’s tallest roller coaster during a trip to Spain. He let Niall wear him down when he asked to go ziplining through caverns in northern Wales. (Although the jury is still out on whether or not Harry will ever fully forgive Niall for yelling, “This is Sparta!” in the style of Gerard Butler in _300_ and kicking him off the platform when all Harry wanted was to wait a few minutes to get his wits about him.)

So, long story short, examples aside, he’s adventurous, but Harry is also nothing if not pragmatic which is why —

“An electronic music festival? In the Caribbean? Next weekend?” Harry repeats, voice flat. “You’re joking, right?” It’s not that he dislikes the Caribbean, he’d surely go on a trip to the tropics and get some much needed color one can’t get from staying in dreary, cloudy London, but it’s an _electronic music festival_ . Harry hasn't willingly listened to any type of electronic music since he was maybe 12 and belting out the lyrics to Cascada — _Everytime we touch, I get this feeling! —_ in the privacy of his own bedroom.

Add on top the fact that it’s so last minute and Harry’s almost 80 percent sure he won’t go. Unlike Niall, he has a job that requires him on the weekends, actually might require him _next_ weekend, pending the schedule he will receive tomorrow.

But that’s what _isn’t_ in true Niall fashion. The adventure is so last minute. Niall usually lets Harry know far in advance to give him the time to call off work, to move around his schedule. This time, however, it’s completely out of left field. Niall hasn’t so much as _breathed_ a single word about the event, and this seems like the type of adventure Niall would be bouncing off the walls for months over, yet Harry can’t manage to think of any prior mention of the festival.

Niall lunges forward, pressing against Harry until they’re both laying flat on top of their couch. It’s probably the comfiest couch in the world, and Harry doesn’t mind having Niall’s weight on top of him while they’re on it — he _has_ been pressed into it, if you know what he means — so he resolutely stares at the remnants of Niall’s blonde hair now at the tips of his brunette tufts, serving as a nostalgic reminder of the many boxes of bleach from their uni days. Harry prefers Niall as a brunette anyways.

“Please,” Niall whines. “My _favorite_ DJ is going to be there, and his next show in the U.K. isn’t for _months_ , and I _have_ to go!”

“Couldn’t you wait for him to come to the U.K. like any other normal human being?” Harry shoots back, limbs splayed out like a ragdoll. He swallows down the ‘you’re also filthy rich and can probably pay for a roundtrip ticket to the Caribbean with the cash you have in your wallet.’

“But this festival isn’t like other festivals!” He nuzzles his forehead against Harry’s cheek and squirms on top of him, the bastard fully knowing that Harry is a sucker for cuddles and attention. Nope, Harry is going to stay firm on this.

But just in case, he is still not looking at Niall — mostly out of fear that he’ll use his baby blue eyes and his best puppy dog look, the kind that Harry can’t say no to. He talks to the cowlick atop Niall’s head. “Niall, you know electronic music isn’t my thing. It’s all bass drops and autotune,” he replies. “Besides, it’s EDM. I've already been to — what was that called?”

“Tomorrowland,” Niall deadpans, looking every bit of unimpressed in Harry’s peripherals. “We went to Tomorrowland, also known as one of the largest EDM festivals in the entire world.”

Harry gives him a shit-eating grin. “Exactly! That one! Why do you need me to come to another one?”

“Because this one is different, Haz!”

He raises an eyebrow. “And how is it different?”

“It’s an experience!” Niall all but screeches in exasperation, scrambling up off Harry and to his room. Harry sits back up, staring at Niall’s retreating form in confusion. He can hear the shuffling of items from the room, and Niall comes back out with his laptop in tow, one hand holding the laptop up and the other hand typing across the keys as he returns to the couch. He plops beside Harry and clicks a YouTube video.

“The Fireproof Festival experience?” Harry reads the title aloud. “What is this?”

“Their promo video,” Niall quickly mutters. “Now, pay attention!”

Harry can only roll his eyes, fold his arms across his chest, and amuse Niall.

At first, the production of the video doesn’t surprise Harry. The beginning is full of panning shots of crowds at EDM festivals that seem almost stock in nature with cuts to closeups of girls sitting on boys’ shoulders, arms adorned in glow-in-the-dark bracelets and wearing nearly nothing else. There’s a song playing in the background that has a heavy enough bass to do eardrum damage if played at full volume. It’s so _typical_ , even down to the fireworks and the featured DJ jumping behind the turntables to the rhythm of his own manufactured beat. There’s some overlay text calling it a “transformative and once in a lifetime experience at the intersection of music, art, culture, food, and adventure,” and it’s so cliche that Harry almost opens his mouth to ask Niall what’s so special about it. But when he looks over to Niall, the man’s face is lit up with excitement, so Harry tamps down the teasing just for the moment.

The video switches to tropical views of an island straight out of a movie, crystal blue waters surrounding shocks of green and sand. People are jumping out of yachts, everything looking picturesque. The camera chases them as they swim underwater and then follows them when they’re on jet skis above water. Shots of a tropical getaway are interspersed with a bustling nightlife, toasts of alcohol high in the air. They’re jumping off cliffs into clear waters one second, and then they’re bouncing up and down to the music in the next. They’re running down beaten paths in slow motion, the natural green blocking the peripheral views of the camera.

It’s still all so cliche, so millennial, and so materialistic that Harry almost scoffs. He’s not surprised people would throw money at this sort of thing, maybe to post a few pictures, maybe for a vacation, but for Harry, he’s not entirely amused by it. Sure, he’d like to go to the Caribbean and take a break from the dreary life of a barista in London, but he’s sure this would cost an arm and a leg to attend — and he’s not so sure something like this is worth it. Actually, he’s pretty sure something like this isn’t worth it.

Though Harry’s face shows no signs of a weakening resolve, Niall presses further into Harry’s side, nosing his shoulder just as the video ends, not dissimilar to a cat. “Doesn’t it look like amazing? It’s not _just_ a festival, Harry! It’s an _experience_ ,” he emphasizes, echoing the text from the video. “And what better experience than to have a weekend in the _Bahamas_ with your best friend?”

Harry rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “We can do that without the EDM festival,” he says.

At this, Niall smacks Harry’s shoulder, earning him a yelp and a glare. “It’s like two for one, Haz! You don’t even have to listen to the music. It can just be a vacation. God knows you need one.”

Harry rubs at his arm. “You literally dragged me across Europe with you just a few months ago. I’m not _that_ in need of a vacation.”

“I came to your work two days ago, and you were muttering angrily at the coffee machine.”

Harry scowls. The thing had been giving him problems all day when Niall walked in. He had been at his wit’s end, nearly pleading with the machine to work properly and not nearly scald him for the thirtieth time that day. Niall simply caught him at a bad time.

But it doesn’t stop Harry from sighing, a small crack in his demeanor that Niall notices and pounces upon.

“And I may have already purchased two tickets,” he sheepishly mentions (or not-so-sheepishly, Harry thinks — Niall is a manipulative bastard when he wants to be).

“You what?!” Harry snaps, eyes wide. “Niall, isn’t there someone else that can go with you?” His voice goes high-pitched towards the end of the sentence, incredulity evident.

“Er, I may have gotten carried away when seeing the festival that I impulsively bought tickets?” Niall gives him a slow shrug and at least blushes at the admission. “And there’s no one else I’d rather bring with me than you, Haz.”

It’s said so seriously that the corners of Harry’s lips tug downwards, and he pouts at Niall. It’s no secret that Niall is wealthy, son to a music industry magnate and heir to a musical empire; he’s always been eager to spend his trust fund money and inheritance on only the most extravagant of things that the world has to offer, this last-minute electronic music festival being the most recent of a long, long, _long_ list.

But Harry can never seem to shake himself of the guilt he feels when Niall goes out of his way to include him on his purchases. Whether it was the same trip to Spain with the roller coaster or the trip to Wales with the zip line or even his offer to take up the greater percentage of rent they pay for their admittedly lavish flat, Harry has this need to repay Niall in kindness and friendship, knowing he could never pay him back monetarily. Working in a coffee shop could never pay the dividends, let alone the interest, that Harry knows he surely should pay Niall back. Instead, Harry lets Niall do what he wants, acquiescing to his friend’s wants and desires more easily than he would his other friends. He owes a lot of his current comfort to Niall, and he’s not one to easily forget it. As a result, Niall gets away with everything just short of murder — actually, he’s not sure he wouldn’t _not_ let Niall get away with murder.

Thus, Niall picks out the furniture of the flat, chooses the restaurants, the movies, and will always get his way when it comes to someone he likes. More often than not, it’s been girls — not that it would matter with girls since Harry’s _gay_ and all — but there’s always been that one guy every now and then that Niall can’t help but gravitate towards. Those are the ones Niall will sternly turn to Harry, shake his finger in his face, and warn him not to try and pull. (Harry can’t help it if he’s naturally charming.)

Despite Harry’s reservations about Niall’s generosity, he also knows arguing is futile. Niall has plenty of money, he says, and can spend it how he likes, on who he likes — and it just so happens Niall likes the hell out of Harry. It’s led to quite a few arguments back in the day when Harry had more of a backbone and Niall had been even more ostentatious about the purchases — Harry still can’t believe Niall bought him a pair of Saint Laurent boots just because he stopped in the window to look at them for, like, _two_ seconds. But they’ve learned to pick their battles.

With all that said, it’s not that Niall’s selfish, nor does he try to buy Harry’s friendship. He’s generous is what he is, aware of the type of money and affluence he has at the ripe age of 23. Just as much as he spoils Harry, he participates in all forms of charity, big or small — from the lemonade stands to the charity galas that Harry reads about on GQ. His heart is as big as his laugh when he’s had one too many Guinnesses. And Harry truly loves Niall with all of his heart, would do anything for him — Niall who drops everything if Harry’s having a spectacularly shitty day like when he found his ex in bed with someone else, Niall who knows his favorite ice cream flavor and orders it without pause at their favorite parlor, Niall who will climb into bed with him stark naked at the end of a night of drinking, knowing how much Harry loves to cuddle when he’s drunk.

“Please, Haz? There's no else I’d want with me,” Niall pleads once more, blinking innocently.

Harry loves Niall fiercely which is why he reflects upon all of this, as though he hasn’t a million times before, and finds himself smiling at Niall, saying, “There’s no way I’m arguing out of this, is there?”

Niall’s response is to whoop loudly in Harry’s ear, throw his arms around him, and tackle him back into the cushions of the couch.

Yeah, Harry really does love Niall.

*

Harry lied. He actually hates Niall and the way he spends his money so frivolously. Because what Niall _failed_ to mention to Harry was that they’d be traveling by private jet and not by regular, commercial airlines. Honestly, Harry would have taken being up in first class rather than being shuttled by a _private - fucking - jet_.

He sighs heavily, trudging along towards the jet. It would actually be quite comical if you looked at it from afar.

Harry is in his most comfortable pair of sweats, their use documented by the small holes scattered around the fabric. He’s wearing a threadbare white t-shirt, hair tied back by a blue bandana. He’s holding one of his larger duffels, the bag just as worn as the rest of his clothing with all of the cracks in the leather. He looks positively ridiculous on the open tarmac next to a pristine white jet he’s only seen in magazines, a few men in suits and sunglasses lined up to greet Niall as he walks up the steps to the entrance of the plane.

He looks like he’s trying to be a stowaway on the plane, not like he’s _supposed_ to be on it.

“Niall, why the hell are we using a private jet?” Harry calls out, fingers gripping the handles of his bag tightly. He wills himself to take that first step forward. He can feel the judgment from the suits’ eyes, taking in his appearance. Harry almost wants to flip them all off, but he has better self-restraint than that, he thinks.

Niall shrugs, and it’s unsurprising to Harry that Niall could be so nonchalant about it. His two emotions are ‘chill’ and ‘excited.’ Harry figures the latter emotion will come into play once they land on the island.

“Too last minute of a trip. Flights were dodgy, wanted to sit next to you for the flight,” he offers, accenting it with another one-shoulder shrug.

“Wanted to sit next to me for the flight,” Harry repeats monotonously, continuing to walk forward until he’s right below Niall on the steps. “You do realize we’re attached at the hip as it is. Being separated on a flight would probably actually be _good_ for us.” He cocks an eyebrow.

Niall immediately shushes him and presses his finger to Harry’s lips. “My love, how could I stay away from you?” he dramatically sighs, falling into the plane with a flourish.

Harry rolls his eyes, unable to stop himself from dimpling, and when he turns back to the suits — who he assumes to be Niall’s father’s security guards — and waves them goodbye, he swears one of them waggles his eyebrows at him — which, no. His smile falters, morphing more into a grimace at the thought of whatever thoughts _they_ might be having.

Shaking his head, he traipses into the plane after Niall, taking in his surroundings.

It's bright is what he notices at first. All of the plane windows are open, the sun filtering in and setting the cabin awash with natural light. The cabinets are done in a rich mahogany, complementing the tan leather of the furniture’s upholstery. It looks expensive. Harry sniffs the air — it even smells expensive, nothing like the stale plane smell he’s accustomed to.

He carries his duffel in and looks around aimlessly, looking for a place to put his bag. There's tables and chairs, the big comfy kind that seem absolutely perfect for the long nine-hour flight ahead of them, but it’s unlike any plane Harry’s been in. There's no overhead bin for his stuff despite being as spacious as it is, and he can't for the life of him see any place for storage. The cabin was obviously designed with comfort in mind, utility pushed to the backburner.

Harry’s about to open his mouth to ask Niall where he should put his stuff when a voice behind him politely asks, “Mr. Styles, can I get your bag for you?” It's a tone straight from the automated voicemails he hears all the time, almost robotic in nature, and when he turns around, he sees a flight attendant, dressed in a cream pencil skirt, a cream blazer on top of a crisp white shirt, and black kitten heels. A scarf of the Irish flag colors completes the outfit, and yeah, that seems like the type of uniform Niall and his family would have their personal flight crew wear.

“Er, yeah,” he stutters, holding out his bag for her to carry. She takes it from him with a smile and opens a closet door he hadn’t even noticed, sliding open a door at the top shelf and gingerly placing the duffel inside.

Harry merely stares as she does it, a feeling of confusion coming over him as he's never had one of Niall’s… employees — is that even what Harry should call them? — wait on him. It’s a strange feeling.

The flight attendant turns back to him once everything is safely stowed away and asks with a tilted head, hands folded in front of her, “Anything else for you, Mr. Styles?” He should find it perplexing that she knows his name already, but he’s still stuck in the fact that he’s on a private jet being helped by one of Niall’s employees.

“Uh, please, call me Harry,” he manages.

“Protocol says I have to call you Mr. Styles.” She smiles. “Ring me if you'd like anything else.” And with that, she nods, effectively dismissing herself and disappearing behind a curtain that Harry presumes separates the flight crew from the inhabitants of the plane.

“Ah, Moira,” Niall sighs wistfully. Harry turns back to him and sees Niall’s expression soft and dreamlike. “She took me mile high virginity a few years back. Bless her.”

Harry’s eyes widen, his head snapping back to the curtain and almost expecting Moira or, at the very least, an object to plow through and hit Niall straight in the face. Nothing comes, and Harry wonders if Moira heard it or if she did and ignored it. Niall does get away with the most.

“I have industrial-level earplugs in case I get a stiffy on the flight and — “

Harry moves towards Niall and claps a hand over his mouth. “You are absolutely vile and putrid, and I don't understand how we’re friends.”

Niall throws his head back and cackles as he sinks down into a seat, swinging one leg over the top of the arm of the chair. “I’m only kidding!”

Harry takes the opportunity to cuff Niall on the side of the head with a step forward, then darting back before Niall can retaliate.

He whines, shooting daggers at Harry who smiles. “I know you think I’m a twat right about now — ” Niall starts.

“Yes, you are a twat,” Harry interrupts.

Shooting him a quick glare, Niall continues, “ — _but_ …” He pauses dramatically for emphasis. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.” His voice goes soft, accent curling around the edges of the words. “I mean it, Haz.” And Harry can feel his resolve seep out of him, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from turning upwards.

“Thanks, Niall,” he says after a pause.

Niall winks before pulling out his phone and fiddling with it. _Maybe texting Moira_ , Harry wryly thinks without the heat or annoyance from just moments prior.

He shakes his head and sits down into a seat across the aisle from Niall, lightly bouncing in the seat and revelling in just how _soft_ it is. His hands fly to the sides of the seat, patting around for the lever to see if it reclines. (It should. This is a private jet. It would be a _travesty_ if it didn’t.)

“The buttons are in the armrest. You just have to pop it open,” Niall calls out without looking up from his phone.

Harry immediately pries the armrest open — he thinks he should be congratulated for picking the right armrest the first time around — and experiments for a moment. Then the whirr of the seat interrupts the silence as he’s lowered while a footrest simultaneously rises from beneath the seat.

The seat itself is spacious, easily able to fit more than one person if they really try, and Harry finds that he can turn back and forth, knowing he tosses in his sleep whilst on planes. It should be a relatively painless flight, he hopes. Or as painless as it can be for a nonstop nine hour flight.

He’s about to sit up and ask for a pillow and blanket because again, it’s a private jet. Harry feels they probably _do_ have these things. But before he can do so, Moira’s already coming out with a pillow and folded fleece blanket, a knowing smile on her face.

“Here you are, Mr. Styles,” she greets, handing him the items. He takes them from her with a grateful smile that she returns a little too widely for Harry to _not_ notice, and Niall coughs.

“Oi, Moira, he’s gay. Don’t even think about it,” Niall calls out, mostly playful but with a slight bite.

Moira, ever the sight of grace, turns to Niall patiently. “Mr. Horan, you know I only have eyes for you.” She bats her eyes at him, and Harry shifts, slowly putting the pillow at the headrest and unfolding the blanket in his lap while taking in the scene.

“Of course you do,” Niall declares proudly, toothily grinning.

Moira smirks, walking down the aisle towards the back but not before flicking Niall in the ear.

He yelps, covering his ear, and glares at Moira’s back as she disappears into the back of the plane in a fit of barely concealed giggles.

*

Hours later, the pilot speaks through the P.A. system, startling Harry out of his apparently deep enough sleep that he’s slept through all nine hours of the flight: “Mr. Horan, Mr. Styles, we are approaching our destination. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Crew, prepare for landing.”

Harry blinks, the immediate sunshine straining his eyes, as he tries to adjust. The heels of his hands come up to his eyes, rubbing remnants of sleep away. Once comfortable and more aware, he leans over and looks out the window to his right, doing his best to stay beneath the fleece blanket.

Out the window, all he sees are blue skies, not a single cloud in sight. He’s left awestruck. “I don’t think we’re in London anymore,” he says under his breath, as he takes in the views.

It’s not like Spain or Wales or any of the other places Niall’s brought him to where there’s buildings and bustling cities, the terrain beneath the wings of the plane still metropolitan in nature. All Harry can see are varying shades of green surrounded by a cerulean blue that could challenge the skies he sees before him. It’s an island that looks like it’s been barely touched by modern civilization; he figures only a fraction of it is seemingly used for the festival.

It’s a proper tropical paradise, he realizes. Despite the nature of their trip, it’s not just a festival, it’s a full-blown vacation where Harry doesn’t have to stick to a particular agenda, hopping from setlist to setlist for an entire weekend. Harry thinks he can go for a dip in the ocean and swim to his heart’s content; he can lay out on the beach and catch some sun, tanning his skin to a level of gold he hasn’t had in _years_ . Even though he was hesitant to come on the trip — and, to be honest, he had been dreading the weekend — seeing it now in person makes him feel a bit more at ease like there _is_ something awaiting him this weekend. He may not hate Niall so much after all.

“Beautiful, innit?” Niall calls out from behind him. Harry turns, and Niall’s hovered over his shoulder, wide catlike grin — bordering on smug, Harry notes — plastered on his face. It’s almost as if Niall knew what he was thinking.

Harry makes a noncommittal sound, shrugging with one shoulder. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Niall shoves him, barking out a laugh. “You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

Harry glares at him. “Pilot said to get in your seat, Horan. It’d be a pity if you got hurt during landing,” he drawls, the barest hint of teeth in his tone.

“Alright, alright, I’ll wear ya down one way or another,” he acquiesces, fishing a piece of gum from his pocket and returning to his seat with a plop. He spreads his legs wide open, taking up as much room in the seat as he possibly can before buckling himself in and shoving the piece of gum into his mouth. He looks over at Harry and asks, “You want a piece?”

Harry smiles in response, and Niall gets out another piece and throws it over to Harry, who nearly fumbles the stick. He looks back up at Niall when it’s successfully and safely in his palm and looks brightly up at Niall, prior grumblings already forgotten. He pops it into his mouth and begins to chew, as he feels the beginnings of their descent.

Harry wiggles in his seat to get comfortable one last time, listening to the sounds of the cabin as they begin to land.

*

Niall is first out of the plane, bouncing on the balls of his feet and brimming with excitement. The sun and warm weather seem to bring out only the best in Niall. With his shades over his eyes and his changed outfit of a low-neck graphic tank and board shorts, Niall looks about ready to party, even though the festivities don’t technically start until tomorrow. Harry, on the other hand, hadn't thought to change out of his sweats, and yet again, he’s reminded just how out of place he still feels despite his awe of their surroundings.

When Niall realizes his companion hadn't bounded out after him, he turns and finds Harry still rooted to his spot inside the plane, cloaked in shadows and looking hesitant to walk out into the light. “The island won’t bite, Haz,” Niall teases with a laugh.

Harry frowns. It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to get out. It’s just _surreal_ is what it is, almost like all of it is too good to be true. They’re on a tarmac like at any other airport, but the tarmac is one of the smallest he’s ever seen — not that he’s seen many. He’d felt the abrupt stop of the plane coming immediately after he felt the wheels of the jet touch down, but he hadn’t realized just how little the asphalt takes up when he looks at his surroundings. It’s black, black, black runway and a building and hangar where he supposes the planes are meant to refuel, and then it’s earthy colors of palm trees, bushes, and _wildlife_. There are clear cut paths where tires of numerous cars have worn through the dirt to signify exits and entrances, but aside from that, it’s nature.

When he walks out of the jet, he squints, sunlight as harsh and unforgiving as it is warm and bright. But it feels good on his skin, setting his senses alight. He’s happier, vitamin D doing its job almost instantaneously.

He can’t help the smile that forms on his face, and Niall’s own widens further. “See? You’re already feeling better!”

Harry rolls his eyes, smile intact. “C’mon, Horan, where do we go from here?”

As though Harry had said the magic words, Niall’s entire body perks up. He adjusts the bag on his back before pointing to Harry’s right. When Harry’s eyes follow the direction, he sees a sleek, red Ford Mustang, top down, waiting for them by the tail of the jet plane. A man, presumably their driver, stands tall next to the Mustang, mouth pressed in a line, waiting, while the flight crew is busy putting their bags into the boot of the car.

“We’ll stop by the cabana first to get settled, and then we can check out the island and the grounds.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise nearly all the way to his hairline. “Cabana?”

“Yeah, as part of the VIP package, we get our own cabana. Proper romantic, don’t you think?” He winks.

Harry shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Did you say VIP?”

Niall nods unabashed and seemingly proud of himself. “Yeah, we get our deluxe cabana, backstage access, and pretty much unlimited food and drinks!” He turns on his heel and starts to head for the car.

Harry sputters, stumbling over himself and following after Niall. “Isn't VIP a little excessive for something like this?”

Niall sharply turns around and grabs Harry by the shoulder, halting him in his tracks. “Repeat after me, Haz.” He looks to him for confirmation, and Harry nods. “Unlimited alcohol.” He draws out the sounds, emphasizing each syllable.

“Unlimited alcohol,” Harry repeats.

“Great! Glad we came to that!” he cheers, smile blinding. He heads back off into the direction of the red Mustang, hopping over the door and into the back seat in one fluid motion Harry knows he won't be able to duplicate if his life depended on it.

Harry follows after him. He greets the driver, who acknowledges his ‘hello’ with a nod and does his best to climb over the door with the most amount of grace he can muster. It must still not be enough because he can hear Niall snickering.

He huffs. “Hey, you try and coordinate all these limbs on a daily basis.” He settles into his seat, Niall still snickering. The driver slides into his seat, inserting the key into the ignition and starting the car. Harry hears the closing of the boot behind them, and then they’re off.

The radio begins to play one of the local stations, something native to the region and that Harry doesn’t recognize. It still fits the scene, acting as the perfect soundtrack to the beginning of their vacation.

They leave the tarmac and head out onto the paths, the terrain beneath them making the car ride quite bumpy. A few turns, and then they’re on actual concrete and asphalt roads, zipping down the street with what Harry thinks to be a blatant disregard for any type of traffic safety. But Harry’s not even sure the driving is the worst part of the ride.

Harry always thought driving in a convertible with the top down was this fun, free, easy going type of ride. What he finds is that it’s not nearly as fun or easy going when you have long hair. When stationary, the breeze is cool and refreshing, lightly kissing your skin as it goes by. When moving in a car at nearly 80 kilometers per hour, the breeze turns into a whipping sort of wind, his hair flying out in all different directions.

Meanwhile, Niall’s lounging in the backseat, glasses pushed on his face and a smile still plastered to his face, the short hair doing nothing but being pushed back by the wind.

“How much longer — _ack!_ ” As Harry’s talking, another lump of hair makes it in his mouth.

Niall must find Harry’s predicament all too amusing, resting his forehead on the headrest in front of him as his entire body shakes with laughter. “That’s what you — get for growing — it out!” he manages to get out between laughs.

Ignoring Niall, Harry leans forward in his seat, pushing his hair _again_ to the side. “How much longer until we’re at the cabanas?” he asks the driver, raising his voice to be heard over the whipping wind.

The driver shouts back, heavily accented, “Only ten more minutes!” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he points out towards his right, just as the beach comes into view. “We have to head over to the beach. All the cabanas are on the beachfront.”

Harry’s jaw drops, looking out towards the direction in which the driver is pointing. “They are?!” With the way his head is turned, his hair doesn’t seem to have as much trouble staying out of his face.

“Not many cabanas out there. Maybe five or six excluding a few for the staff. Mr. Horan was lucky enough to get the last cabana, according to Mr. Liam and Mr. Louis.”

“Mr. Liam and Mr. Louis?” Harry asks, cocking his head.

Niall pipes in. “They’re the ones who started Fireproof. Liam Payne of Payne Records, based out of Wolverhampton. His father, Geoff, is a good friend of me dad.” He’s heard of Payne Records, of course, although he doesn’t have intimate knowledge of it — only knows it as a popular record label back in the U.K.

“And Louis?”

“Louis is the DJ I was telling you about.” Harry notices the way Niall’s eyes twinkle when he starts to talk about Louis. It’s strange, and Harry narrows his eyes infinitesimally. “He’s done quite a few collaborations in the past year and has garnered quite the circle. He’s kind of the one that brought the artists altogether.” Harry can’t help but hear the warmth in Niall’s voice… like Louis is someone he admires. Strange. Again.

“So, if Bobby is friends with Liam’s dad, then why haven’t you been to a show by Louis yet?” Harry asks, prodding Niall to talk more about this Louis character and see if he’s imagining it all.

Something crosses across Niall’s face briefly — Harry thinks it may have been… glee? Interesting. “Schedules just haven’t matched up. He’s been busy spinning tables stateside in Vegas. He’s currently on a promo tour with Steve Aoki for their latest single. Haven’t exactly found a reason to go to Las Vegas, aside from attending his show.”

“Since when do you need a reason to go anywhere?” Harry smirks.

“Never mind that!” Niall waves it off. “I’m pretty excited for — ” He pauses so briefly that Harry almost didn’t catch the hitch in his voice. Curiosity has blossomed into full-blown suspicion. “ — for _us_ to meet him.”

Harry hums, just as the driver turns, the wind changing direction and blowing hair into his face again. He adjusts himself in the seat. “I mean, if he’s your _favorite_ ,” he replies, emphasizing the word ‘favorite,’ although Niall manages to keep his facade of nonchalance together for the most part.

“Not to mention, he’s fit.” He winks at Harry. Ah, bingo.

Harry grins, storing away the knowledge in the back of his brain. So Niall has a crush on this Louis character and is looking to make an impression. He’ll drag it out of Niall somehow. He always does — although it _is_ weird that Niall hasn’t said anything about Louis until now, especially if he’s been following this DJ for some time. He wants to ask more, but after that, the conversation stalls.

For the sake of strategy, Harry puts a mental pin in the situation, vowing to explore it more later.

In the rest of the time of the car ride, both Harry and Niall take the time to appreciate the sights as they begin to traverse out of the greenery and into the town. The buildings are as colorful and vibrant as the land to begin with, only a handful of places looking beaten down and in need of repairs. Otherwise, it’s beautiful, and Harry can’t help but wish his camera wasn’t stowed away in his bag. He’d love to get some shots right about now. Pastel pink houses against a backdrop of sky blue. He sighs.

Within a few minutes, they’re approaching the beach. To their right is a line of cabanas, where Harry guesses they’ll be staying, but in between the small houses is all sand and sea, only feet away from their accommodations. With glimpses of the sparkling water, Harry thinks he might actually be in heaven.

“This is incredible,” he breathes, taking in the way the sunlight glints off the surface of the ocean and watching the waves crest and crash, the sound only yards away, rising above the wind in his ears.

“Only the best for me and you, Haz!” Niall exclaims. He shoves over to Harry, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into his side.

It’s a short-lived act of affection, as the driver comes to a stop in front of a small wooden home with a faux thatched roof.

Once they’re at a complete stop, Niall hops out of the car, walking towards the cabana with purpose, fishing a set of keys out of his pocket. When the hell did he get keys?

Meanwhile, the driver gets out and rushes over to the back of the car, opening the boot and lifting their bags out. He shuffles towards the cabana before Harry can even offer to carry his own things inside. Harry watches them both walk towards the front of the cabana before climbing out of the car himself.

He looks down at his feet, eyeing the beat-up trainers before toeing out of them and then his socks. He reaches down to tuck the socks into his shoes before catching up with Niall and the driver.

The sand feels phenomenal below his feet, warm enough to the touch but not too hot for Harry to have to quickly sprint across the sand. It’s soft and gives only slightly to his weight, not unlike other beaches he’s gone to where he feels as though he’s sinking too much and finds trouble traversing across sand.

The sun is high above, beating down on him, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, and he knows it’ll only get hotter the longer they’re here — not that Harry is complaining.

He makes it to the front of the porch just as the driver is leaving the bags on the porch and turns to go back to the car.

Niall stops him and pulls out a few American dollars — when did Niall have time to do a currency exchange? — for tip, and all Harry can do is wave off their driver, as the driver thanks them before making his way again towards the car and peeling off.

“He’s picking up other guests, so he’s in a rush,” Niall explains, answering the question in Harry’s head before it’s even fully formed. “Let’s check out the cabana before we go exploring.” He inserts the key into the cabana and opens it, the door only slightly creaking.

Niall goes into the cabana first, grabbing his bags and bringing them in, seemingly unfazed. Harry follows after with his own bags and looks around.

It’s deceptively larger on the inside than it seems on the outside is Harry’s first thought. The first area is a shared, common area with a sofa, a coffee table in front of the sofa, and a TV on the opposite wall. There’s tiled floors underfoot, immaculately polished and clean, with white walls and white ceilings, everything even brighter with the light streaming in from the two windows near the front and the window on each side.

Walking further in, there’s a round table for up to four shoved in the corner, before it narrows into a hallway. There looks to be some basic appliances — microwave, refrigerator — with a steel sink, wooden cabinets, and granite countertops on the left and a door to the right. Harry pokes his head in, and it’s a bathroom, complete with a sink, toilet, and walk-in shower not dissimilar to those found in five-star hotels.

He goes back into the hallway and continues down until he gets to the end of the hall and a door where Niall has disappeared into. He goes in and finds the bedroom.

The bedroom is a comfortable size — again, larger than he anticipated — with one giant king-sized bed in the middle of the room. Fitted with crisp, white sheets, the bed has a wicker headboard and looks positively tempting, and Harry almost wants to jump in it and sleep the weekend away just so he can.

However, before he can give real credence to the idea, Niall startles him out of stupor. “Okay, do you wanna change before we head out?” He eyes his outfit.

Harry gives the bed one long, wistful sigh. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

*

It turns out the grounds are an easy ten minute walk straight from the back of their cabana. The grounds are a giant clearing, spanning what feels to be multiple football fields. There are other attendees milling around, looking just as awestruck and excited at the sheer size of the event. Two stages are being set up at either end of the clearing, the crew bustling around to get things ready for tomorrow’s event.

Niall pulls out a map he found from inside the cabana, looks between it and their surroundings for a moment, and then points towards the stage far off from his right. “If that’s north, then… that’s the main stage where the headliners will be performing at the end of the day. That’s the ‘Tropics of Cancer’ stage. The other stage on the south side of the grounds is a secondary stage for smaller artists. It’s called ‘Tropics of Capricorn.’” Harry nods. “What’s great about Fireproof is that it showcases both big and small talent. You see, if you make it into the Fireproof lineup, you get tons of promotion.

“Most people will come for the big, established names — Kygo, Sigala, Robin Schulz, Steve Aoki,” Niall continues to explain, “but in between those bigger sets, people will be curious to see what the south stage will have to offer. Smaller acts get the chance to prove to crowds if they’re worth it, and the trend is that Payne Records picks them up on their label if they do well enough.”

“So it’s kind of like an audition?” Niall makes an affirmative noise. “That’s pretty cool of Payne Records,” Harry muses.

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s Louis’ idea though. He’s the one that scouts the acts, you know. He’s like Payne Records’ A&R department, and they don’t even have to pay him.” He pauses for a moment. “What I’ve read is that he got his big break, thanks to Payne Records. They took a chance on him, and it paid off. What he’s doing now is just giving that same chance to other acts. Of course, they have to prove they’re worthy of that chance, but it’s good of Louis to not only be a producer but also a mentor to these up-and-comers.”

“He sounds pretty great,” is all Harry says in return.

“Yeah, he really is,” Niall says, nodding and looking at Harry with a smile.

It’s an opening. Harry can begin to fish for more information. Make Niall admit to this crush, and Harry can endlessly tease him all weekend and —

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” Harry blurts before he can stop himself.

He fish mouths for a moment, eyes wide, and he didn’t mean to say that. He had a strategy, damn it.

But if Niall is caught off-guard by his question, he doesn’t show it, just seems to grin even bigger than before. Harry will take the win.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great. I think you’d really like him too.” Niall winks again.

“I’m sure I will. Anyone you like I’ll like,” Harry replies. That was even more painless than he anticipated. He expected a twist of the nipple from Niall combined with a half-hearted shrug and some blushing — the standard fare whenever Harry asks Niall about someone actually likes. He wonders if there’s more between Niall and this Louis character than he anticipated.

*

Harry continues to ponder Niall’s crush, as they explore more of the festival area. Niall avoids the town for the time being, insisting that they visit it at night when it’s more lively. Niall says that, during the day, the town is mellow, its residents basking in sleepy sunshine. “It’s like they’re resting up for the _real_ festivities at night,” he says, sounding almost as if he had quoted it directly from somewhere.

Instead, they check out the other accommodations. If Harry thought their cabana looked small from the outside, some of the other cabanas are half the size with probably even less of the amenities. They’re also farther away from the beach, opposite the waterfront cabanas — not that the residents mind.

While he and Niall walk down the adjacent path, Harry watches as more attendees clamber into their cabanas, eyes bright, skin slick with the day’s sweat, and smiles wide. The cabanas are close enough together that a few of them out in front begin to talk to one another, sharing easy laughs and creating friendships that could last well beyond the confines of the weekend.

Harry smiles at them, some of them looking in their direction and smiling right back.

They’re much more friendly and _present_ than those that went to Tomorrowland. They’re less wired and strung out on tablets and pills, but Harry’s not sure if that’s a product of the festival itself or from the downtime leading up to the festival.

Either way, Harry revels in what may very well be the calm before the storm.

*

According to Niall, the speakers throughout the island are playing songs from the attending artists. There’s a ‘ _So you say you wanna get away, we don’t need a plane, I could be your escape. Take you to a place where there’s no time, no space. I could be your private island on a different planet. Anything could happen. Listen to the waves, let them wash away your pain.’_ Another perfect song to the soundtrack of the trip, Harry thinks.

They’re lounging on the beach, resting up before the weekend truly kicks off. Harry’s in one of the two pairs of swim shorts he’s brought along — his infamously tiny yellow shorts. They ride high on his legs, revealing his tiger tattoo and a hint of his _Brasil!_ tattoo on his thigh, as they’re laid out on top of the beach chairs, sunglasses on their faces, hands folded behind their heads.

Niall had been humming along to every song that’s played, as he has been all day — once again, the festival seems to _truly_ be Niall’s home away from home if his level of comfort is any indicator — but now, he seems to have fallen asleep, mouth slack, chest rising up and down with the deep breaths of sleep.

Harry’s foot is tapping along to the beat, an infectious and melodic ‘ _Underneath the palm trees, you can leave your worries. Listen to the waves. You say you wanna get so high. Breathe me in like air tonight. Listen to the waves,’_ ringing in his ears.

The music is mixed with the sounds of crashing waves, the distant sounds of laughter and chatter, coming from other early attendees currently enjoying themselves on the beach, and the sound of Niall’s snores that escape him every now and then.

It’s not until after the song’s finished that sand is kicked up onto Harry’s stomach that he startles out of his tropical reverie and looks over the rim of his sunglasses at the perpetrator and —

_Oh, hello._

“Er, I’m so sorry!” the pretty man in front of him says with a laugh. He’s tan skin, brunette hair brushed across _really_ blue eyes.

They both go silent for a few seconds.

The man’s eyes are wide, as he looks at Harry with a kind of intenseness that two strangers shouldn’t share. It’s as though he finds Harry familiar, studying him, and while Harry doesn’t know what to do with that thought, he takes the man’s temporary lapse in focus to study him right back.

For one, he’s fit, _insanely fit_. He’s smaller than Harry, maybe even Niall, but Harry thinks he’s more compact than anything else, dressed in nothing but a skin tight wetsuit, unzipped to his waist, and Harry nearly salivates at the sight. He lets his eyes lazily tread over the wiry muscles of his biceps — one of which is heavily tattooed and the other which has a few stray tattoos — and then over his chest where a ‘It Is What It Is’ tattoo is scrawled across and then down to his waist, where his stomach is soft yet toned and all too appealing to Harry.

It’s then that Harry comes back to himself, hoping he hasn’t already made a fool of himself in front of this man. “Uh, it’s not a problem,” he replies quickly through a lump in his throat. He waves his hand in front of him stupidly.

The man giggles, and then his eyes widen as though he hadn’t realized he could make that sound. Red creeps high onto his cheeks — _perfect cheekbones, too_ — and then a voice calls out, “Tommo, c’mon! Stop being distracted by pretty boys! We gotta go!”

It’s Harry’s turn to blush, as he sneaks a look at his companion. Unlike ‘Tommo,’ the man is more muscular, all lean muscle, but with more definition overall, especially in his midsection. (Harry may be able to see an 8-pack, but he’s not entirely sure.) He’s ruggedly handsome, but Harry still finds his gaze drawn back to the smaller man.

“Hold on!” Tommo calls out and then turns back to Harry. “You here for the festival?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m here with my friend,” he says, flicking a thumb in Niall’s direction. Tommo takes a look at Niall and barks out a laugh, quick to cover his mouth. Harry thinks his laugh is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“Oh, uh, good, good,” Tommo says breathily. His companion calls out for him again, and Tommo huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry for him. We’re just in a hurry and — “

“No, no, please, don’t let me hold you up!” He flashes a smile, making sure his dimple pops out. They all love the dimples.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll, like, see you around then, yeah?” Tommo replies, stuttering through his words and _hopefully_ affected by Harry’s charm. He needs it to work to make up for the lack of eloquence.

“Yeah…” A pause. “ _Hopefully_ ,” he adds on and immediately prays it wasn’t too strong.

It seems not to be, because Tommo breaks out in a smile, returning with a “Yeah, _hopefully_ ,” before jogging off.

And _wow_ , a chorus of ‘ _I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave’_ sounds off in his head, as he watches what may be the most perfect arse move farther and farther away until it disappears between two cabanas.

Five seconds pass, and Harry’s not sure whether he’s relieved or mortified that he’s only now gotten hard, his shorts doing little to hide him. He gets up quickly, hands trying to discreetly cover his crotch. He moves over to Niall, swats at him, startling him awake.

“Wha — what happened?!” Niall asks, out of breath. He takes one look at Harry with his hands hovering around his crotch and laughs. “How did you pop a boner out here?” He takes a look around. “There’s like no one here. Did you have a wet dream? Or — “

“I, erm, gotta go handle this in the cabana,” Harry ignores Niall _yet again_. “Can you stay awake long enough to make sure none of our shit gets stolen?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re free to wank.” Niall dismisses him with a wave and a toss of the keys — which he, of course, fumbles — and Harry all but sprints to the cabana.

He barely has a foot in the door of his bedroom before his hand is shoved into his pants and his hand moves rhythmically just the way he likes to the thought of bright, blue eyes and golden tan skin. If he comes embarrassingly quickly and then falls asleep on his bed not ten minutes later from the exertion, no one has to know.

*

Later that night, true to Niall’s word, they explore the town at night, the festival music replaced by authentic Caribbean sounds. The locals were talking, laughing, and clapping loudly in the street, living up to their lively reputation. Some tried to sell trinkets and wooden souvenirs, while others simply sat in their wicker chairs to invite the visitors into conversation.

After a few conversations that left Harry and Niall grinning from ear to ear, they get dinner at a small restaurant in town. The food is served steaming — Harry’s gotten the catch of the day and he swears the fish is so fresh that it twitches on his plate. Niall, meanwhile, opted for a chicken and rice dish that smells heavenly. Niall only proves how delicious it is when he lets out an obscene moan with the first bite.

“Haz, we made a good choice,” he says through a full mouth, eyes still fluttering.

The music in the restaurant seems to also be from the festival’s playlist, although it’s one of the more mainstream songs that Harry recognizes from the radio. _When I need motivation, my one solution is my queen ‘cause she stay strong._

Harry spears a piece of fish and puts it into his mouth. He almost makes the same mistake as Niall but instead keeps his mouth shut and hums his approval. “This is amazing, Ni,” he agrees.

They offer each other pieces of their food, cutting up reasonable pieces and leaving them on each other’s plate to eat when they’re ready. They talk about their favorite aspects of the island thus far. For Harry, it’s the nearly untouched nature of the island, as it’s all he’s been able to focus on — save for the boy from the beach. He’s been snapping pictures everywhere they’ve gone, his polaroid camera becoming more like an additional limb than it normally is. He hopes he’s packed enough film to last him the trip, although he knows that that probably isn’t the case.

On the other hand, for Niall, it’s the undercurrent of excitement that seems to be everywhere they go in anticipation of the festival, thrumming faster and faster as the time approaches. It’s contagious and widespread, as well. Locals and festival attendees all equally as perky and alive. It’s as though the locals thrive off the energy of what the weekend has to bring and return it tenfold. It seems like the founders’ vision of a tropical-themed festival seamlessly intermingled with the existing culture. Sure, there are the rowdy characters that are sure to threaten the good relations, but if they’ve hosted the event before and still have the locals speaking nothing but positively of the festival, it seems they have a good hold of everything. It just proves to be a testament to the goodwill between the festival team and the people of the island.

Altogether, it’s not hard to see what Liam and Louis saw when they chose this island to host their festival. They left most of the island intact, choosing a naturally-existing clearing for the festival grounds, only building the larger cabanas on seemingly empty beaches and smaller cabanas on the fringes of the clearing. But with the beach only minutes away from the main stages and an entire island to explore filled with waterfalls, lagoons, and who knows what else, it’s as though the electronic music is merely another activity to pick from, not the main event.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Harry asks through another bite.

Niall looks upwards, thinking for a moment. “Well, Duke Dumont is opening the festival at the main stage at 11 a.m., so we definitely want to be around for that. It’ll be a proper opening. Otherwise, I think Friday’s lineup includes Cash Cash, Klingande, Jai Wolf, and then Kygo closing, but they’re all scattered throughout the day. We could probably also check out south stage and see who Louis’ rounded up this year.”

Niall must see the hesitation and confusion on Harry’s expression because he quickly adds, “You don’t have to come around for all of it, Haz. Feel free to go to the beach whenever you’d like!” The excitement on his face dims by a fraction but enough for Harry to notice.

Harry swallows, guilt resting low in his gut. He doesn’t want to disappoint Niall, not especially after bringing him along on this trip, all expenses paid. He should be able to do what Niall wants to do.

“I’ll probably try to find Liam at one point again.”

“Liam? You already saw him?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, he was on the beach while you were passed out in the cabana. Was able to catch up with him for a bit. He’s been busy setting up all week.”

“Was your dearest Louis with him?” Harry smirks.

Niall rolls his eyes and flings a piece of rice at Harry’s face. “Louis was off to greet some of the artists that were arriving..”

The smirk doesn’t leave his face, as he says, “Ah, so you missed a meeting with your beloved DJ.”

Niall glares at Harry. “Don’t think I don’t know that you rubbed one off in the cabana,” he shoots back a bit too loudly.

Harry kicks him under the table.

*

They go to sleep that night, or they try to.

Harry can hear Niall shuffle back and forth beneath the sheets, the bed creaking under his constantly moving weight. He knows Niall slept on the beach, but it hardly could’ve counted for much, considering what they have ahead of them. He doesn’t understand how Niall can _still_ have this much energy.

But aside from Niall, he can hear the waves, faint as they may be, so he focuses on that, tries to assign a rhythm to the swells, crests, and crashes. And before he knows it, he's asleep, lulled into his dream state by the promise of something good coming over the horizon.

 

*

When Harry wakes up, it’s to a chaotic cacophony of noises; the sound of glass against wood, the grunts, the creak of the wood beneath shifting weight, all of which alert Harry to consciousness. He opens his bleary eyes, light coming through the curtains and casting shadows across the room.

The culprit is none other than Niall who is already buzzing around the bedroom, bottles of varying types of liquor shuffled around — whisky, gin, vodka, rum, beer along with a selection of mixers — and Harry wonders how long he's been asleep because there's no way Niall is actually thinking of drinking hard alcohol so early in the day. But then he remembers where he is, what they're supposed to be doing — and yeah, it does make sense.

Harry sits up slowly, stretching his arms out towards the ceiling and trying to drag himself out of bed before he can even consider the other option of staying in bed. He swings his legs over, arching and twisting his back, letting out a sigh of relief at the crack of his spine.

“Ah, good morning, beautiful!” Niall exclaims once he notices that Harry is, in fact, awake.

Harry winces at the volume of his voice. “What time is it?” he asks, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

“9 a.m.!” he cheers, pouring Red Bull into two tall glasses and then adding vodka, while Harry lets out a soft groan. Niall tuts at him, taking one glass and handing it over to Harry. “It's early, but I have your coffee!”

“It's a vodka Red Bull,” Harry replies dryly, eyeing the drink warily before taking it. He knows Niall won’t take no for an answer.

“And it will wake you up! Now, bottoms up!”

“This isn't a shot, Ni — ” But it's too late, and Harry watches in a mixture of horror, fascination, and a smudge of admiration as Niall tosses the drink back, the line of his throat moving as he swallows gulpful after gulpful. “That _cannot_ be safe,” Harry says mostly to himself. He makes a mental note to keep a copy of the phone number for medical emergencies on his person at all times because if this is nine a.m., Harry can't imagine what nine p.m. will look like.

Niall finishes the drink with a wince, the only indicator that, yes, there _was_ vodka in that drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He then turns to grab a beer.

Right. The sooner Harry can get that emergency number, the better.

“Hey, you still have your drink,” Niall points out, cracking off the top with a cool snap.

Harry raises the glass to his lips and takes a modest sip, trying not to make a face at just how much vodka is in the drink. He fails when he puts the glass down, expression sour. “I could've sworn you put more Red Bull in here,” he chokes out.

“I did put Red Bull in there, could barely taste the vodka except at the end!” He takes a swig out of the beer.

Shaking his head, Harry hands the drink back to Niall and gets up to move to the dresser to make his own drink. He reaches for the rum, pineapple juice, and orange juice, combining the liquids for a drink that won’t kill him in two hours. He takes a sip and makes a appreciative noise.

“Jesus, Haz, would it kill you to wear pants when you sleep? I don’t want to see your monstrosity of a dick,” Niall complains from behind him.

Harry looks over his shoulder and gives him a pointed look. “Remember that when you’re blacked out tonight, leave all your clothes on the beach, and wake up with sand in your bed.”

Niall considers this for a moment and shrugs as though to say, “Yeah, you’re right. I would do that,” and finishes off his beer.

Harry pads around the bedroom, drink in hand, to his suitcase which has been left open, clothes spilling out the sides. He fishes out a bright blue Hawaiian print shirt, deeming it suitable for today’s festivities, and then eyes the yellow shorts tossed on the ground after yesterday’s excursion on the beach.

He lifts the drink to his lips, drinking more this time, rum perfectly cut by the sweetness of the pineapple juice and the tanginess of the orange juice. _Way_ better than the vodka Red Bull.

He bends over, picking it up off the floor. Placing both articles of clothing on the bed, he places the drink back onto the end table next to the bed.

“Please tell me you’ll be wearing pants,” Niall calls out, almost exasperated.

Harry turns around, eyes widening, as he sees that Niall has actually finished his beer and has now moved on to what looks to be straight whisky in a glass. He wants to comment on how completely unsafe it is for Niall to be mixing his liquor.

“Er, I was thinking of just being in the shorts,” Harry replies, instead deciding to preemptively call emergency services and let them know to watch out for Niall.

He cocks an eyebrow, taking slow sips from his glass. “If you don’t want your cock to pop out, wear pants. You’ll be moving around all day.”

As much as Harry hates wearing pants, especially in something as small as his shorts, he does figure Niall has a point and moves to grab a pair of blank Calvins. He pulls the underwear over his legs, one after the other, stumbling a bit — although he’s not sure if that’s because he’s tried or if it’s the effect of the alcohol so early in the morning with so empty of a stomach. (He really should be more responsible than this.)

And yet, inexplicably, Harry takes his drink and finishes it off.

He blames the atmosphere.

*

It’s been hours, and Harry’s nearly drowned himself in the amount of alcohol that Niall’s fed him from one tent to another. Turns out, Niall hadn’t been kidding about unlimited alcohol. With their neon orange wristbands, all it takes is the show of a wrist, and they’re served bottomless top shelf liquor. Harry’s never been much of a fan of beer, so he’s been trying his best to stick to rum the entire day. (At least, Harry’s been doing a good job of making sure there’s something in his stomach to soak up all of the alcohol.)

They’ve been bouncing between the two stages throughout the day, staying in the VIP tent for the north stage and melding into the crowd for the south stage. Harry’s just mostly grateful that he’s not been forced into the throes of bodies in front of the main stage. He watches the crowd push and shove, so many of them as far as he can see. It’s a cesspool of sweat, drugs, alcohol, and probably other bodily fluids that Harry doesn’t want to imagine. He shudders at the thought of joining the north stage crowd.

On the other hand, Niall’s been making friends with the other people in the VIP tent, even suspiciously taking a tablet from one attendee that sent warning bells off in Harry’s head. He knows Niall can handle himself — Niall in Tomorrowland was the most reckless Harry had ever seen him — but as the day wears on, it’s becoming apparent that Harry may not have been the right person to enjoy the festival alongside Niall.

It’s like this: Harry is sober, tipsy at best, feeling more tired than anything else after being on his feet for hours. And only half the day has gone by. Alternatively, with every passing hour, Niall seems to gain more and more energy, quickly looking to Harry to go to the south stage. Harry is firm on staying inside the VIP tent and not beneath the unforgiving rays of the Caribbean sun. With a tilt of the head, some assurance from Harry that, “yeah, he’ll be fine, go ahead,” and a shrug, Niall tells him to stay put with a clap to the shoulder and heads off to the south stage with his newfound friends.

“I’ll be back in like 10 minutes!” Niall calls out over his shoulder and then disappears.

Yeah, most likely a terrible idea to bring Harry along.

But he does stay in the tent despite the blisters on his feet and the growing ache in his back, despite the fact that Harry _isn’t_ having fun, not really.

He goes towards the edge of the tent where he can procure an ice cold water bottle — “No more alcohol,” he resolutes says to himself — and takes four large swigs, relishing the chill of it going down his throat. It’s a short reprieve from the heat. Then he goes back to his place in the tent, watching the act perform.

A DJ by the name of Jonas Blue is on the main stage currently. He’s been pretty good thus far, bringing some of the live singers to the stage, introducing them, and letting them work the stage as he stays within the booth. He’s pretty good, even if Harry’s never heard of him. There’s an upbeat remix of Ellie Goulding’s “Still Fallin for You” blasting through; it’s faster than what Harry knows, but he claps with the rest of the crowd, bobbing his head.

One song fades into another, as Jonas Blue continues their set, and Niall isn’t back yet. Harry can no longer ignore the twinge in his back, knowing it’ll only get more fucked up the longer he stays out, and longs for his bed back at the cabana. He’ll want to rest before dinner and the headliner at the very least tonight.

Harry pulls out his mobile and finds the conversation string between him and Niall. He fires off a quick “heading back to cabana :( back is killing me” and grabs another water bottle before shuffling out of the tent.

With every step, the music and the crowd slowly begins to fade, but he’s still well within the grounds when Jonas Blue announces his last song of the set, “Perfect Strangers.”

“JP Cooper couldn’t be here for this song, but I have a special guest!” he announces over the first set of notes of the song. “Here’s Fireproof’s very own, Louis Tomlinson!”

The name strikes a chord with Harry, and his steps slow. The name sounds familiar, but he can’t put his finger on it.

“You were looking at me like you wanted to stay,” a voice sings, reedy and strong over the speakers, “when I saw you yesterday.”

Harry turns… and at the center of the stage is “Tommo” from yesterday, dressed in denim shorts that cut off at his knee and a loose dark grey tank top with a worn skull printed in front. His hair is styled messily, the fringe pushed to the side and long enough that it curls at the ends.

“I’m not wasting your time, I’m not playing no games. I see ya.” Louis shuffles from one end of the stage to the other and scans the crowd. Harry’s breath catches in his throat, and his heart pounds, as he sees Louis scan the crowd and glaze right over him.

Not that he thinks Louis _can_ see him. He’s a bit far off. There’s plenty of faces, and even if Louis seemed interested yesterday, there’s tens of thousands of festival goers here. Harry is sure _not_ to stand out. It figures that the fittest boy he’s seen at the festival is unattainable, but it doesn’t stop Harry from slowly making his way back to the stage, the pain suddenly gone.

He doesn’t go to the VIP tent, simply slips through the crowd — the very crowd he swore not to enter just hours prior — until it’s too dense for him to push any further. Then he just stands still and sways with the crowd, drawn to Louis’ energy.

_Maybe we’re perfect strangers. Maybe it’s not forever. Maybe the night will change us. Maybe we’ll stay together. Maybe we’ll walk away. Maybe we’ll realize we’re only human. Maybe we don’t need no reason why._

Harry’s feet protest as he jumps up and down with the crowd, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. His hand rises in the air, fingers curled into a fist, and he feels utterly ridiculous in this stance, but watching Louis work the stage is something close to magnetic. He suddenly wants to enjoy this, wants to enjoy _Louis_ , the sour feelings of before placated.

Harry finds himself smiling and laughing at the couple beside him, watching with thinly veiled amusement as the man hoists his boyfriend onto his shoulders and above the crowd. It’s dangerous for sure, and they can’t be sober enough to do it, but it’s done, and the man on top curls his hands into a heart gesture aimed right at Louis.

Louis must see the man, even from so far away somehow, because he points in their general direction, just as he sings, “I’m with ya!” with a wink.

Harry revels in the rest of the song, as Louis continues to sing and bounce around, commandeering the stage like he owns it. He’s only one person, but he seems so much larger, and Harry can’t take his eyes off of him.

But the song ends, trumpets ending abruptly.

“Jonas Blue, everybody!” Louis yells into the mic to raucous applause.

“Give it up for Louis Tomlinson!” Jonas Blue yells right back.

They point at each other before Louis slips backstage to let Jonas Blue do his bow, as the crew goes on stage to switch out the equipment.

Once Louis’ out of sight, Harry feels himself ripped out of the bubble, suddenly too aware of the bodies around him and the aches and pains of his body, adrenaline gone.

It’s when the couple beside him from before topples over on top of the crowd behind them that Harry uses the ensuing scramble to get away from the crowd.

It was a good note to leave on, Harry figures, seeing Louis again and being able to put an actual name — not a nickname — to the sunkissed boy from yesterday.

But he speaks too soon. Just as he begins to walk in the direction of his cabana, a body rams into him head-on, both of them sprawling to the floor from the impact.

It wasn’t too hard of a hit, but Harry’s suddenly annoyed, spitting out, “Watch where you’re going!” but the end of the words soften and die out when his eyes land on exactly who he’s collided with.

“Ah, sorry, mate, I — ” Louis begins to say, but a smile forms on his face when recognition takes over. “Oh, it’s you.” His voice goes fond, and Harry’s stomach is doing somersaults.

“Uh, hi, erm,” Harry stumbles through his words, as Louis gets up with relative ease and reaches out to help Harry out. Louis’ hands are warm in his, soft to the touch. He doesn’t think about how his own hands engulf Louis’, definitely not.

“Are you always this articulate?” Louis teases with a smile, but not making any moves to take his hands back. Harry doesn’t complain, just continues to hold his hand.

“I’m Harry,” he replies stupidly with a quick wince after, “I mean, you were great up there, performing and moving around and — ” He lets out a huff of frustration. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

He stops himself to really look at Louis. His blue eyes are captivating, sparkling in front of him. Louis doesn’t look annoyed at all or confused at how Harry can’t seem to hold a proper conversation; he just seems… interested. It baffles him.

“No, no, no, you’re fine, Harry,” he assures him, the name rolling off his tongue, and Harry wants to hear him say his name again in a variety of different ways. “And thank you.” He gives him a smaller kind of smile, one that seems private, and if Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think that was a hint of color creeping up on his cheeks.

“Yeah, I mean it,” Harry adds quickly, wanting nothing more than to be the reason that Louis — _Tomlinson_ , his infatuation-addled brain adds — blushes. “I was actually going to leave, but you and your song reeled me back in.” Too much, too much!

“S’not my song per se,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s hand before letting it go, his falling limp to his side while Harry’s awkwardly hovers in the air. Harry bemoans the loss of contact for a moment before pulling his hand away and tucking both arms behind his back. “But I did enjoy performing it. Guy is a real talent.”

“Guy?” Harry asks.

“Ah, the DJ that was just on. Jonas Blue, that’s his stage name. His real name’s Guy,” Louis explains.

“Oh,” is all Harry replies with, but it’s a dead end. Harry wants nothing more than to prolong this conversation, maybe steer Louis in the direction of his cabana, so Harry can lay down in his bed and rest his back and feet while still talking to Louis. But he’s not so sure Louis would be susceptible to so easily going back to his place, even with the most innocent of intentions.

Thankfully, Louis doesn’t seem to mind the silence, just looks at Harry with a kind of wonder that Harry doesn’t quite understand.

“You’re wearing the same shorts from yesterday,” Louis points out, eyes flickering to his shorts and then back up. “Those are _actually_ criminal, Harold. You’re one wrong move from your cock spilling out.”

Harry’s eyes bug out, and he’s sure he gapes a bit. Then he’s coughing, suddenly feeling ten times hotter at the fact that Louis actually referenced his cock. Maybe Louis wouldn’t be so opposed to going back to his cabana.

“Oh, um, that’s what Niall said. He, erm, made me wear pants before heading out.” He pulls down the waistband of his shorts and shows the black of his Calvin Kleins. After a moment, he snaps it back into place and looks up at Louis who is still staring at the waistband of his shorts.

“Glad Nialler was looking out for you,” he responds softly.

“Nialler?” Harry asks, tilting his head.

The question makes Louis look up at Harry in alarm. “Oh, yeah, Nialler, I have a friend named Niall, and I call him Nialler,” he quickly replies and then pauses, opening his mouth as if to say something but then closes it. Harry just waits, raising an eyebrow.

Finally, it seems to come out of Louis like a bullet: “Hey, I know we just met, but do you wanna get dinner tonight?” The words slur together like Louis’ _nervous_ , and that thought alone makes Harry want to jump in glee.

Without a second thought, Harry replies, “Sure!”

“Great! I know this place right by the ocean in town, and the food is amazing. I think you’d really like it. Maybe I can pick you up from your cabana!”

And it’s all so fast for Harry, the way Louis seems to just _jump_ into this — whatever “this” is. He can ponder later whether this is a date because he’s transfixed by the shape of Louis’ lips, the way he slightly bounces with excitement, his movements accentuating every single word that leaves his mouth. But Harry maybe attributes it to the festival’s carefree attitude, where inhibitions are left behind, where people seem to just throw themselves into the atmosphere head first.

“So what do you say? Where’s your cabana?”

Except cabana. Right. Niall.

“Oh, um, I just remembered that I’m supposed to get dinner with, um, Niall.” He shuffles his feet a bit, nerves getting to him, because he might have to turn down this dinner invitation.

Louis must see the uncertainty on his face because he offers, “Niall is more than welcome to join us. I feel like he’ll enjoy it, too. I’ll bring my friend, Liam, too.”

And while Harry is glad he’ll be able to spend more time with Louis, he can't help but feel like he lost something by inviting more people to their dinner.

He doesn't want that to show on his face, so he tamps down the feelings of disappointment and musters a grin out of Louis.

“You and Niall can meet us there. It's called Caribbean Breeze. Meet us there at seven p.m. One of the locals will be able to point you in the right direction.”

Their gazes are locked for a moment, soft smiles on both of their faces. And it feels monumental somehow, like something's clicked into place for Harry. He wants to savor this moment, wants to remember it — how they looked at each other in the midst of the festival with all that was going on around them, only focused on each other and lost in their own world.

“Tommo!” a voice rings out from behind Harry.  They both turn to the voice to see one of the festival’s crew members, a larger man adorned in an all black ensemble with a cardboard cradled in his arms and a headset on. “Come on! You're needed at south stage!”

“I'm coming, Paul!” Louis calls out. “I gotta go, but I'll see you tonight?”

Harry nods and bites down on his bottom lip to try and stifle a grin. Louis gives him a tiny salute before running off after Paul in the direction of south stage.

Harry is again reminded of the sores on his feet, but he figures it's worth it in the end.

*

“Dinner with Louis Tomlinson?” is the first thing Niall says with a catlike grin on his face.

Harry had been in the cabana, laying flat on the bed on his back, hands folded on top of his stomach. While he wanted a nap, sleep seemed to evade him, as he thought about Louis, excitement for the coming night pulling him away. He thought about his smile that crinkled his eyes, the sound of his voice and then his laugh and how it warmed every inch of Harry. He had stayed like that for two hours before realizing he needed to change into something more suitable for dinner than his indecent shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that now smelled of sweat and alcohol.

It's how Niall had found him, the Irishman still looking respectably sober in spite of earlier activities. (It continues to amaze Harry with just how bulletproof Niall seems to be at times.) But then Niall asked why Harry seemed to be in such a tizzy, laughing at how Harry was hunched over the floor, effectively erasing any relief the bed once brought him.

Harry grunts affirmatively as he continues to tear through his suitcase looking for something suitable enough to wear to a dinner by the ocean. He mentally berates himself for not having an outfit picked out for this situation. It's not he _knew_ he was going to go out to a dinner with a really fit singer, but if anything, the experience is teaching him to be prepared for _anything_.

“Like Louis Tomlinson, the DJ I was telling you about?”

Harry snaps his head up. “Wait, Louis’ the DJ you came to see? The really nice one you really like?” His eyes widen. His heart stutters to a stop because, no, it can't be him, it —

“Yeah!” Niall pads over and wraps an arm around him.

No wonder the name sounded so familiar. Louis Tomlinson as in the co-founder of the Fireproof Festival. Louis Tomlinson who Niall had talked so highly of, so _fondly_ of. Louis Tomlinson who may have been out of his league before, but is now completely and regrettably off-limits.

Harry’s heart sinks, the smile wiped clean off of his face.

“I didn't think you'd meet him without me!”

“Without... you?”

“I wanted to introduce you two, but if he's already invited us out to dinner, then it makes everything so much easier!” He claps Harry’s back and heads off to his own suitcase.

Harry bites back the response of ‘Well, actually, he invited _me_ , and I told him I already had plans with you, so you were only grouped in.’ That’s not a line of conversation he’d like to entertain.

Niall continues, “Seems like you two really hit it off!” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice. “I'm glad since you're my best friend and all.” There's something in his voice that Harry can't pinpoint, something that makes Harry uneasy.

Harry gets up and chooses his words carefully. “Yeah, I'm glad I like him too. I know how much you like him.” He chances a look at Niall who is calmly pulling shirts out of his suitcase, examining them for a moment before tossing them onto the bed in a gesture of rejection.

“He’s phenomenal, Haz. Just you wait,” Niall says with a laugh.

Harry forces out a chuckle even though it sounds a little flat and he feels like his stomach is bottoming out.

Niall hums distractedly. “Here, wear this,” he says in lieu of a reply. He holds out one of Harry’s white, short-sleeved button downs, and Harry eyes it before grabbing it.

“Isn't this mine?” he asks. “Why do you have my shirt?”

Niall shrugs. “Must've been accidentally packed it. You should wear your black jeans with it. It's a lot cooler at night on the island. Ocean breeze and all that.” He pulls out his own outfit with relative ease and begins to methodically strip down and change. He’s calmer than normal, steady in his movements as if he wasn’t getting ready to go see someone he secretly (not-so-secretly) admires.

Harry blinks. It’s just strange how Niall seems to be taking this all with stride. He would’ve thought Niall would be more excited at the prospect of seeing Louis. Before dates or any time Niall would hang out with someone he likes, Niall was full of nervous energy, bouncing off the walls and, well, externally acting like Harry is internally feeling right now. So to see him so calm takes Harry aback.

Maybe Niall was meant to already meet with Louis at one point. Maybe he’s playing it cool. It must be even worse than Harry imagined because Niall’s _never_ acted like this before where he could be trying to mask his emotions from Harry.

If the unspoken words of “Niall likes Louis so he is off-limits” were written above their heads, it just seems to be underlined over and over with every passing second.

“When and where are we meeting up with Louis?” Niall asks as he pulls a blue button down over his chest.

“He said seven and at the Caribbean Breeze.” He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor before putting on the button down.

“Sick.”

It’s all nonchalant, and Harry doesn’t know what to do with this version of Niall. Normally, by now, he’d be hyping Niall up, telling him how Louis’ gonna love him and how he hopes he’ll get it in by the end of the night. Except all of that makes Harry’s stomach turn, the very thought of Louis and Niall _together_ making him sick.

Harry feels like a terrible friend.

After they’re both dressed, they head out into town with 15 minutes to spare. They ask the locals for directions, thanking them with bright smiles, even though Harry is trying to get his nerves under control.

What is he going to do when he has to watch Niall and Louis hit it off? How is he supposed to just sit there and watch them flirt? How is he supposed to tamp down his own feelings of attractions — feelings that may have been reciprocated if he and Louis’ last interactions were any indication?

Then he takes one look at Niall who’s been droning on about the festival, talking excitedly about the acts he’s seen thus far, the DJs and acts he’ll be adding to his Spotify and checking on SoundCloud later, to talk to his father about them in case Payne Records doesn’t scoop them up. There’s so much happiness in his voice, and Harry can’t be the one to burst that bubble.

He inwardly sighs. He’s known Niall for years, there’s no question where Harry’s loyalties lie. He may be inexplicably drawn to Louis, but it’s only been a day. Whatever connection has been forged between them can be severed. It’s not like Niall to stay tied down for long anyways. They wouldn’t be long term, and Harry can move on. It’ll be easy.

That is, until Harry and Niall reach the restaurant and are escorted to the back deck where Louis and Liam — the muscled man from the beach yesterday, he remembers — are engaged in a conversation, leaning on the fence overlooking the water.

At seven, the sun is already making its descent on the horizon, painting the sky hues of gold, orange, and red. The colors cast a warm glow onto Louis’ skin, the breeze coming off the ocean gently tossing the styled quiff atop his head. He’s a vision in light grey shorts, a simple white t-shirt, and a dark blue jacket. It’s the perfect look of effortless yet put-together, and Harry doesn’t know how he’ll be able to handle the night.

“Liam!” Niall is the first to call attention to them.

They both turn, both Louis and Liam lighting up with smiles on their faces upon seeing them. Louis’ smile seems to only brighten when he looks at Harry. They stay rooted in place, gazes locked, while Niall and Liam come up to one another and hug.

“Harold, fancy meeting you here,” Louis says, folding his arms across his chest — biceps bulging through the jacket — with a smirk and a cock of the hip.

Harry wants to drown in the ocean immediately.

“Ah, are we all already on nickname level?” Niall says before turning to Louis.

Louis hesitantly looks away and winks at Niall. “I’d say Harold and I made great progress already.”

“Ah, so you’re Harry,” Liam says, stepping up to shake Harry’s hand. “I’m Liam, Louis’ best mate and Niall’s friend. I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“Good or bad?”

Liam smiles something warm and reassuring. “Nothing but good things, I promise you. Now, come on, let’s eat. Lou and I are starved.”

*

The dinner is as painful as Harry expects. Louis takes the chance to sit right next to Harry, Niall and Liam seated across from them. He’s close enough that he can feel Louis’ warmth radiating from him, and every time their arms brush, Harry suppresses the urge to shiver. Moreso, he can feel Louis’ curious gaze on him the entire dinner, only meeting it when absolutely necessary. And each time he looks at Louis who looks at him right back with unabashed adoration, Harry indiscreetly tucks his hands beneath his thighs, fighting the need to touch him.

It’s just…. Louis listens to Harry attentively and patiently whenever he responds to a question posed by Liam, even though Harry talks too slow at times and starts to ramble. Even Niall had made a joke at Harry’s expense (“Harry, how did we get on the topic of your dead fish from when you were 10?”) and Louis had come to his immediate defense (“Nialler, I do think this particular bit about his fish is _riveting_.”) without even a second thought. He nods like he understands at all the right parts, he laughs with his entire body, he makes quips and teases Harry until the tips of his ears are red.

Louis is just so much and much too close.

He can only breathe for a moment when Niall engages Louis, asking about the tour, the island, whatever comes to mind. Louis will talk animatedly, and that’s when he’d take the time to study Louis under the guise of being attentive. Never mind that he couldn’t retain anything that he was really saying, but he can’t help but follow the slope of his button nose to the small curl of his lip. He traces the sharp lines of his face, imagines his palm fitting into the warmth of his cheek, eyelashes fluttering at the touch.

Niall always said he falls head first into love, that he’s maybe more in love with love, but how could he not when Louis looks like the reason why love exists to begin with?

He pinches his thigh to stop himself from waxing poetic about Louis.

They finish their dinner amidst all the conversation, the sun now fully beneath the horizon and the sky reduced to black and a speckle of stars.

Niall pats his belly, arching over the back of the chair. “Thanks, lads, for the dinner.” He lets out an unabashed belch, much to the amusement of Louis and Harry and to the horror of Liam and the nearby waiters.

“I can never take you anywhere, Horan.” Liam tuts, shaking his head. “C’mon, let’s go to the bathroom.”

Louis takes a sip out of his glass, arm resting lazily atop the back of Harry’s chair. Harry tries not to focus on it and tries to lean forward to create some space. “Need a friend to help you shake it out, Payno?”

Liam glares but, before he can retort, Harry chimes in, “Niall’s quite good with his hands.”

Everyone freezes before slowly turning to Harry. Louis stares at him for a beat before the dam bursts, and he’s laughing raucously enough to be heard from every corner of the restaurant. Niall and Liam follow suit, as they head off to the bathroom, leaving behind the echoes of their laughter in their wake — but more importantly, leaving Harry alone with Louis.

“You do talk some shit, don’t you, Harold?” Louis’ eyes are filled with mirth. “I mean, really, are you trying to set up our best friends?” There’s a twist to his mouth that Harry doesn’t quite understand.

How is he supposed to explain that he’s actually trying to plant the idea of _LouisandNiall_ in his brain? Subtlety is key.

Harry coughs. “Oh, no, not at all.” He looks away, fidgeting as he reaches for his water.

“You’re a shit liar.” Louis looks into his glass, smiling at it.

Harry has no response, and his gaze flickers to the direction from which Niall and Liam came.

“Am I that boring that you can’t wait for Niall to come back?” Louis asks. He’s teasing, but there’s a note of insecurity in there. Harry returns his attention to Louis to find Louis looking at him, a touch of softness to his features that has Harry reeling. “Am I not captivating enough for you?” He bats his eyelashes — long, long eyelashes that fan out against the tops of his cheeks.

Harry finds himself telling the truth: “You’re impossible not to be captivated by.” Immediately, he knows he’s gone too far. He shrinks into himself, feeling too warm even with the ocean breeze surrounding them.

The waiter comes back to ask if they’re okay before Louis can respond.

*

“Where do you think they’ve gone?” Harry asks worriedly when Niall and Liam are still gone for the bathroom fifteen minutes later.

“I’m beginning to think they fell into the toilet,” Louis jokes. “I’ll be right back and look for them.” He pushes his chair back and, true to his word, makes his way to the toilets, but there’s an exaggerated sway to his hips that Harry is definitely not imagining.

Harry holds back a groan, burying his face into his hands. He’s been slipping the entire night into Louis’ gravity, helpless in the ways he’s honest and sincere, qualities that would normally work in his favor; however, they’re now curses upon him. Harry would be dense to ignore that the attraction between him and Louis works both ways, and any time alone between them would prove disastrous.

Louis is all soft touches, clear intentions, and Harry is all but pliant in his hands. He could just tell Louis that Niall is interested, pawn him off onto the Irishman, and run away in the other direction, but a small part of him is downright outraged by the idea.

“Looks like they’ve gone off to who knows where,” Louis hums from behind him, dissatisfaction found nowhere in his tone. Harry would dare to say that Louis is amused at the turn of the events.

Harry steels himself and turns behind him where Louis is standing aloof, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hip popped to the side. He drinks in Louis’ stance, unable to stop himself from slowly trailing his eyes up Louis’ body and cataloguing every single part of him. _You with all those curves and me without no breaks_ is what unhelpfully pops into his mind.

When he finally drags his gaze up to Louis’ face, the older man is watching him with mirth in his eyes, all too knowing.

Harry wants to kiss the smirk off his face.

And no, that’s… not cool.

Harry clears his throat. “Well, erm, Niall talked about going to the festival again tonight. He wanted to hear the headliner, I think.”

“Well then,” Louis claps his hands together, “What are we waiting for?” He holds out a hand to Harry, presumably to help him out of his chair, even though Harry is fully capable of doing that himself. It’s a reason to touch, and Harry plays right into it. What Niall doesn’t know won’t hurt him if he indulges himself just this tiny bit. Louis smiles wider when Harry holds his hand and makes no move to stop even though Harry is fully standing.

“What about the check?” Harry asks, as Louis begins to lead them towards the exit, hands still together. Harry really is indulging himself while Niall is gone.

“Covered by yours truly,” Louis replies easily with a smile over his shoulder that short-circuits Harry’s brain enough that he doesn’t even fight the fact that Louis is paying for what had to be hundreds of pounds worth of food and drink, judging by the quality and quantity.

Harry just allows himself to be led out and into a private car – again courtesy of Louis – that heads back towards the festival grounds.

Louis makes no pretense of keeping a reasonable distance, sitting in the center seat and in Harry’s space, thighs pressed together, despite being the only two in the backseat. They chat amicably, and Harry relaxes in his presence, talking Louis’ ear off, prompted by his endless questions about his life.

Harry’s not a terribly interesting person, not by any means, especially not compared to Niall who jets off wherever the wind takes him and has enough experiences for a lifetime. But Louis sits there, close, enraptured by Harry’s stories of being a barista and being in university, stories that must be distressingly normal and boring for someone of Louis’ status who plays shows across the world and hosts an international music festival, for fuck’s sake.

Why is Louis so enthralled with Harry?

He tells Louis as much: “I’m sorry, I must be boring you. I’m sure you don’t want to listen to stories about me spilling vanilla syrup all over my apron.” He looks down shyly, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Louis blinks and breathes out a chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not all about the scandalous stories of sex, lies, and videotape.” He wiggles his eyebrows, prompting an embarrassing (and frankly uncalled for) bark of laughter out of Harry. Louis seems to revel in being able to make Harry laugh. “It’s just a conversation between two people in the back of a car. Two normal people.” He smiles fondly.

“And besides,” Louis continues, “it’s not so much the content that I’m enthralled by.” Louis reaches out and gently tugs on a lock of Harry’s hair. “It’s the person telling them.” Harry’s heart thumps.

He shifts back before exiting the car and – Harry didn’t even know the car had stopped at their destination. He’s now chalked up two times where their conversation has drifted into serious territory before being interrupted by circumstances. He’s not going to think too hard about what that means.

*

It’s already past midnight, the dinner lasting an unexpected four hours – How did time fly by that quickly? – and the trip to the festival taking another twenty to thirty minutes in traffic.

Harry should’ve expected Louis to lead them into the VIP area, what with his connections to the festival, but he thought Louis would’ve put more of an effort into actually looking for Niall.

“Liam would’ve brought Niall here if anything,” Louis had offered as an excuse when Harry asked.

But when Niall _and_ Liam are nowhere to be found, Louis shrugged, holding back a grin, and Harry very nearly rolled his eyes at just how transparent Louis can be.

Knowing Niall, he’s right in the thick of the crowd, drink of choice sloshing about and dancing along, moving his hips and arms up in the air as he sways. And Harry was almost 85 percent sure Louis knows the same.

So as it is, they stay in the VIP area. They’ve hardly spoken though. Louis hasn’t brought up what was said in the car, leaving Harry to stew in thinly-veiled declarations of interest. Instead, person after person approaches Louis, leaning close to whisper in his ear over the roar of the festival. Harry’s nodding his head along to whatever performer is up. Every now and then, Louis will engage Harry in some conversation but will inevitably be pulled away by someone new. (He swears Dua Lipa and Olly Alexander are among Louis’ audience, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s clinging onto Louis to meet celebrity after celebrity.)

The last performer is already on stage, his light show and the accompanying fireworks bright in the sky.

“Kygo’s nearing the end of his set,” Louis states, suddenly reappearing at his side. Harry is a bit startled but nods. He remembers Niall saying that Kygo was ending the day, meaning the first day of the festival will soon be over.

Harry looks over at the crowd when he realizes this. They seem like they're all amidst a second wind of energy, desperately holding onto the last moments of this day — because he thinks they all realize that one day down means only two left to go, that it's already winding down. He can see it in the way they reach their hands out towards the stage, how they almost violently push back and forth. Even if it ends in bumps and bruises, right now, the crowd is electric and alive, taking in every present moment as best they can.

Then Harry looks over at Louis. His companion isn’t jumping around in the type of frenzied way everyone has been all day and as they are now; his energy is more subdued, expended in limited movements — swaying back and forth, gently nodding along, small hand gestures. He looks relaxed and loose, and it puts Harry at ease, no pressure to fall into step with the crowd.

Harry allows himself to feel the music, not dancing with Louis, but next to Louis, he maintains. He dances along to a _‘thought I could leave you ‘cause I felt my heart numbing. It hit so deep I closed my eyes and I just took off running. I turned around and saw the look on your face, so I stayed, stayed.’_ It's mid-tempo, melody feeling like a sunset and a conclusion to the first day of the weekend.

“To be honest… I’ve never really listened to this kind of music,” Harry finds himself admitting. “It’s all Niall’s scene.”

To this, Louis pauses his movements, turning his body to address Harry fully. “Really? You don't even know who Kygo is?” He looks fully surprised, eyebrow cocked and everything.

Harry shakes his head. “I… came along because of Niall. He's my best friend and begged me to come, and I can't really say no to him.” He chuckles, looking down and feeling the tiniest bit of embarrassment.

“He must mean a lot to you if you're willing to shell out thousands of dollars to come down here especially with VIP,” Louis replies.

“Oh, er — ” Harry clears his throat into his fist. “ — Niall actually paid for my trip, the bastard.” His voice trails off melting into the _‘but I don’t need you and you should know that, baby.’_

“Oh,” Louis says a bit confusedly, then says it again with more finality, prompting Harry to look back up at him. Louis looks the most unsure he's been in the entire time Harry’s been in his presence. The sudden lack of confidence is unnerving, and Harry knows what’s going through Louis’ mind.

“Niall’s my best friend, and being the son of Bobby Horan, he has that kind of cash to spend, and I guess he chooses to spend it on me, a lowly cafe barista,” he quickly explains, almost ready to lift up a neon sign that says “Niall and I aren’t together!” to ensure that Louis gets the picture.

As expected, the uncertainty is wiped clear off Louis’ face, replaced with something fond, as he says, “You must be a pretty incredible best friend then,” and Harry’s stomach is suddenly filled with butterflies, as Louis smiles at him. He almost feels like he's back in secondary, stealing glances at his crush, Tom, and catching Tom stealing glances right back at him. He’s giving Harry the same look he’s given him all night — and Harry thinks he finally knows what it is, spelling out H-O-P-E in his head but not wanting to say it in his head and make it just the tiniest bit more real.

“Uh, you know, for a lowly cafe barista,” Louis teases, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He rocks back and forth, trying to hide a smile and clearly failing if Harry’s own helplessness to a returning smile is any indication. “Niall’s a great lad from what Payno’s told me about him. Funny and a riot. It’s good that you're, erm, friends!”

Harry smirks and stifles a giggle, trying to divert his attention to the stage and pretend like he's listening along. And he is but lyrics like _‘_ w _hy can’t I say no to the look on your face?’_ resonate and provide a voice to the thump, thump, thumping of his heart, loud in his ears.

When he chances a look back at Louis, unable to help himself — he’s _weak_ , but Louis is still so much and Harry still doesn't know what that means, but he gravitates towards Louis nonetheless — it’s just as Louis moves closer to him, maybe feeling the same sort of attraction that Harry feels in that moment, something he can’t deny but shouldn't want, closer and closer so that their arms aren't just brushing, they’re pressed to each other’s sides.

Louis radiates warmth, and Harry was right in saying that Louis is a lot.

“Uh, more people are coming into the VIP tent, so I thought I’d make room,” Louis says with a grin. It’s bullshit, but Harry lets him have it, not wanting to argue it and confirm what he already knows.

“Yeah, no problem,” he says, smiling, just as Kygo transitions into his last song of the set, judging from the crowd’s response to what sounds like a few notes.

As more instruments begin to kick in, Kygo addresses the crowd, “This is the last one of the night!” Thunderous cheers nearly drown him out. “Let's make it a good one. Here's to day fucking one!”

The music slows down.

_I'm a flame, you're a fire. I'm the dark in need of light. When we touch, you inspire, feel the change in me tonight. So take me up, take me higher. There's a world not far from here. We can dance in desire or we can burn in love tonight._

From behind the stage, small fireworks go off in rhythm with the increasing pace of the beat, exploding into a medley of colors. It's not like he's never seen fireworks before, but set against the palm trees, it's a completely other feeling.

Then he feels Louis nudge him. “Do you think Niall would be mad if I stole you away for a few more hours?”

Harry almost gapes, willing his heart to slow down. It sounds like a date, but he's trying to convince himself it isn't. “I don't know. I don't want to leave him. What’d you have in mind?”

Louis smiles something secret like he knows something Harry doesn't. While it’d normally annoy him, it instead sends a thrill up his spine.

“If the music isn't your scene, I was thinking of showing you around the island,” Louis says.

A heavy _‘our hearts are like firestones’_ rings in his head.

“I did some tours around the island yesterday,” he replies uselessly, it sounding flat even to his own ears.

“Yeah, but I’m the one that scouted this island for the festival. I know this place well enough to consider myself a local.” Louis smiles proudly.

“What if I told you a local showed us everything?” he teases just for the fun of seeing Louis grin mischievously.

“No, no, Harold. That won't do. We have to do it the Tommo way.” Boldly, Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist and tries to meld himself into Harry’s side. He does.

It shouldn't surprise him that they fit so well.

_When they strike, we light up the world._

There's a few seconds of silence between them, and for every single one, Harry is very much aware of the way Louis’ fingertips graze his hip. He tries not to shudder from something as simple as his touch.

He tamps down the swirling feelings of desire that Louis’ kicked up within him. Friends can touch, can hug, can hang out, but they can't do anything more than that.

“I just don't want to leave Niall alone,” Harry says, leaning slightly away from Louis and trying to regain some space — and some of his sanity.

Louis frowns quickly at the divide between them but doesn't comment. “Well, let’s play it by ear then. If we so happen to run into each other and you have some time, there are some things you seem like you’d like to see.”

“Like what?” Harry quirks an eyebrow.

“Guess you’ll have to come along to find out,” Louis sing-songs, bumping his hip against Harry’s before moving away.

Louis’ sure to drive Harry mad with his incessant need for contact, but Harry’s also sure he’s never felt fire quite like this in the places where Louis has touched.

*

Harry returns to his cabana, feeling loose and heavy at all once, the events of the day both invigorating and exhausting in their entirety.

He had left Louis at the VIP tent after unsuccessfully stifling a few yawns. It wasn’t until Harry’s knees nearly buckled and gave out beneath him that Louis prodded him to go home, offering to accompany him back. Harry had refused and ensured Louis that he’d be okay. With a furrowed brow and a pregnant pause, Louis had nodded and then — in a split second of adrenaline fueled by alcohol and the general uninhibitedness the festival requires, maybe — he rose up onto the balls of his feet and pressed a light kiss onto Harry’s cheekbone before giving him a quiet good night and shyly turning away.

Harry’s never moved faster to get back.

But when he’s back, he’s not surprised to find the place empty, expecting Niall to be out and about, partying until the very last second, regardless of how many more days they have on the island. (A voice in his head quietly suggests that Niall and Louis found each other, and something ugly curls in his stomach. One more thing for Harry to ignore.)

Boneless, he flops on top of the bed and the duvet, made by the staff during his absence, and inhales deeply, nose buried in the soft cotton beneath him. It smells of fresh laundry with hints of the sea, and he can’t help but think of Louis before he falls asleep.

 

*

Harry wakes up to a heavy bass reverberating through the cabana. He’s undeniably sore, the ache affecting nearly every part of his body, feeling the low thrum of pain throughout. It’s only exacerbated by the volume, the walls of the cabana doing nothing to keep it from creeping inside. He groans.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to sleep now that the festival seems to have kicked off for day two, Harry opens his eyes, immediately assaulted by — yes, the festival has kicked off if the way the sun unapologetically streams into the room is any indicator. He lets out another groan, squeezing his eyes shut. He rubs at his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, and then notices the headache from the night before. He knows he hadn’t drank as much as Niall did throughout the day, but marathon drinking always leaves Harry like he’s been hit by a bus.

Groggily, Harry sits up in bed, smacking his lips together and grimacing as he tastes the remnants of one too many tequila sunrises. Just the very thought of tequila sends a shudder up his spine. He’s not sure if he can repeat the events of yesterday for two more days.

He takes in a deep breath and swings his legs over the side. He forces himself to stand, stumbling over to the bathroom. His legs feel like jelly from being up on his feet all day, and his feet especially ache.

The linoleum of the bathroom feels good against his feet and acts as a respite to the burn, as he leans over the counter, turns on the faucet, and splashes his face once or twice. He blearily looks up at the mirror, finally taking note of the fact that he’s been stripped down to nothing but his pants, morning wood doing a great job of making its appearance through the fabric. He sleeps like the dead but hates sleeping in clothes, so he sends a quick ‘thank you’ to Niall. Speaking of Niall —

Harry holds onto the doorframe, leaning out and peeking his head back into his room and listening for any sign of his best friend. When nothing but a remix of ‘Milkshake’ comes back at him, he calls out, “Niall? You here?” And... nothing.

Harry sighs, straightening up and assessing himself in the mirror once again. His hair looks particularly greasy, pieces stuck up this way and that. Niall’s probably left already for the festival, and Harry has to play catch up, but he figures he can squeeze in a quick shower and wank before dirtying himself up again in the throes of the festival. He’s half-dreading the crowds, the push and pull of the bodies not nearly as enjoyable as that of the waves, but he doesn’t know what else he can do, too wary of the island and not comfortable enough to explore it on his own.

Just as he turns on the shower and gets it to a nearly blistering hot temperature just the way he likes it, Harry hears a heavy-handed _rap, rap, rap_ against the front door. Figuring it’s Niall who’s come back, he walks over to the door, still dressed in nothing but his pants.

He opens the door, halfway through saying “I can’t believe you didn’t try to wake me up, you wanker,” when he realizes that, no, it’s not Niall, _definitely and decidedly not Niall_ , and the last few words die in his throat.

The day before flashes by his eyes, memories quickly flipping through, and Harry’s face heats up.

“Well,” Louis drawls, casually leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face, “I would have woken you up had I known you expected me to.” He smiles, and Harry thinks it’s too early for him to be expected to successfully banter with Louis. He feels the man’s gaze roam appreciatively over him, and Harry stiffens, feeling vulnerable and naked. “Didn’t expect you to open up in nothing but your pants, Harold. I mean, really. It’s so early, and you’re already trying to seduce me?” He leans forward and pulls on a tuft of curly hair. Harry can already feel it becoming a habit.

And, all of a sudden, Harry is aware that he has a _very_ hard problem to take care of, and Louis is all too close to make that problem any better.

Harry coughs into his fist and tries to angle his body away from Louis’. “I, er, thought you were Niall,” he replies stupidly.

“Nope, m’afraid the Irish lad came bouncing by our cabana early this morning, and he’s already out on the grounds with Liam.”

“And why aren’t you out with them?”

“I was, but when you didn’t show, I decided to see if you were still asleep or out on your own adventure.” He says it so nonchalantly like it was no big deal for Louis to leave his own festival, and it makes Harry’s heart clench. He’s not making this easy for him.

“Um, thanks,” he says, trying to hope that the crimson steadily rising on his cheeks can be blamed on burns received the day before. “I was about to shower.”

“Oh, I’ll just wait then,” Louis says before shoving his hands into his pockets with a smile.

“What?” Harry really needs to learn how to _talk_ in front of Louis.

“You’re showering, and then we can head out,” Louis replies patiently, smile still intact.

“Oh, um, okay, will we be going to the grounds?” Harry tries to hide the hesitation in his voice. It’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to go, but he… yeah, no, he _doesn’t_ want to go.

Louis looks at him for a second, eyes searching Harry’s face and smile dimming only a bit. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he replies quietly.

Then Harry’s kicking himself because why would he seem even the smallest bit of ungrateful about the festival to one of _two_ people that organized the entire thing? Hell, Louis was the one who got all of those music acts to come for the weekend. Harry not wanting to go to the grounds is like a slap to Louis’ face and all of his hard work. He’s about to open his mouth to retort and assure Louis that he _does_ want to go when Louis beats him to it.

“I told you I wanted to show you some places.” He look down to the floor and then back up at Harry through his lashes. Long, long lashes that Harry finds himself fixated on.

He shakes himself out of his stupor and remembers that Louis did mention something about showing him around the island. He knows he’d have more fun out and about than in the sweltering heat of the crowd, but then he thinks of Niall and feels guilty.

As though Louis could read his thoughts — which, in itself, _terrifies_ Harry because when did Louis learn the ability to see right through him so quickly? — he quickly adds, “I already talked to Niall about it, and he wants you to go around the island and take pictures or summat.”

Harry blinks at Louis, unsure how to feel about Louis taking the incentive of asking Niall. He feels as though he should’ve expected it, his own apprehension of leaving Niall behind crystal clear in their conversation from last night. He maybe should feel offended that Louis’ taken it upon himself to free Harry’s schedule, and then he thinks of how Niall must’ve been devastated that he wouldn’t be able to find time with his favorite DJ.

“So, are you gonna shower so we can head out?” Louis asks, looking past Harry’s shoulder and most likely into the cabana. He flicks his gaze back to Harry, giving him an expectant look.

Harry startles and opens the door wide, moving to the side. “Oh, shit, sorry.” Louis beams at him in lieu of a response and walks past him, straight in. “Um, yeah, I’ll just go shower. Make yourself comfortable.”

Louis proves to take that bit to heart, laying out on Harry’s bed with his hands folded behind his head and eyes fluttered shut. Harry can feel his cock stir at the sight of Louis laying there in _his_ bed, his brain supplying all types of images of Louis spread out beneath him panting and moaning and —

Harry scurries into the bathroom, nearly slams the door behind him, and finds the water still running. He’d been hoping that an empty cabana would mean he wouldn’t have to control his volume when rubbing one off, but with the focus of his pathetic daydreams in the room over, he knows that’s gone all to shit.

He nearly rips off his pants in a rush to get into the shower, reveling in how the water is still as scalding hot as when he first turned it on. It burns his skin, pinkening it at contact, and he bites down hard on his lip to suppress the groan that tries to crawl up his throat. He rests his forehead against the shower, letting the water cascade down his back, and fists his cock on the right side of rough, pumping it once or twice into full hardness. His hand moves up and down his shaft, thumb light on his slit on the uptake.

Harry’s in the comfort of his own head, so he lets himself imagine as though Louis’ hand is the one on his cock. He pictures tan gold skin marked with a flush on his face and down to his chest, neck littered with possessive love bites that Harry wants to take his time to make.

He imagines Louis taking his cock into his mouth, his pretty little lips wrapped around the width of it, cheeks hollowed as he takes Harry in and out with gusto. Harry wants nothing more than to ruin him, fucking his mouth enough that his voice comes out but a raspy whisper. He wants Louis to _beg_ for it.

And Harry knows it's all too soon for this. He shouldn't want Louis as bad as he does, but then he remembers that the real, breathing Louis is in his bed, looking soft and pliant, and Harry’s so hard he could cry.

His eyes are squeezed shut, and the images of Louis on his knees, hands behind his back in something submissive, send Harry spiraling, white stars speckling behind his eyelids.

He’s going to come soon and needs to really, knowing he still needs to properly take a shower, so he continues to fist his cock before reaching behind him with his other hand and sneaking a wet slick finger into the crack of his arse. Just the pressure of it against his rim sends him shooting out onto the wall in front of him.

Harry does his best to muffle the shout that escapes him, shoving his face into his shoulder.

When he’s able to catch his breath, he removes his hand from his softening cock and lets the water wash away the shame he feels at wanking _again_ over his best friend’s crush. Because, in all of Harry’s flirting from the night before and what surely will be more frustrating tension for the rest of today, he feels guilt, because Niall likes Louis. He holds onto a tiny shred of hope that Niall might not like him as much as Harry’s building it up to be in his head, just so he doesn’t go running off to Niall to beg at his feet for forgiveness.

A few minutes later when he’s all showered, he walks out of the bathroom as casually as he can with a towel wrapped around his waist. He tries not to make it weird when quietly rifling through his suitcase for an outfit, feeling Louis’ eyes on his back. (More like he hopes to _God_ that Louis didn’t hear him in the shower.)

“You might want to wear swim shorts,” Louis calls out from behind him, not a trace of amusement in his voice. (Harry may or may not inwardly sigh at having been discreet enough with what happened in the shower.)

“Are we getting wet?” Harry asks right back but then makes a face when he realizes what he’s said. “Just don’t answer that.” He fishes out a plain white t-shirt, eyeing a couple of holes made from use and wear. He stands up to his full height, looking around for the yellow shorts discarded from their first day on the island, and finds them strewn off to the side of his bed.

He flicks his gaze to Louis who’s laying there in the position Harry left him in, looking comfortable and watching Harry right back, and Harry’s overwhelmed with the desire to cuddle next to him, spending the day exchanging sleepy kisses and warmth.

Instead, he tears his gaze away, walks over to the side of the bed, and grabs the shorts off the floor before making his way back to the bathroom to change.

When he walks out again, Louis is standing up, yawning into the crook of his elbow and stretching his limbs. He offers a grin. “Well, the day’s still young, Harold, and we’ve got places to be.” He bounds out the room and towards the front of the cabana.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Harry replies, slipping his feet into his highlighter yellow trainers, grabbing his polaroid camera, and following after.

Louis stops, lazily smiles at him from over his shoulder, and — maybe Harry is beginning to know Louis just as well as Louis seems to know him because the smile sends his pulse racing but also sends his heart plummeting —  Louis says, “Yeah, I know. I heard you.”

Harry stops, embarrassment and shame keeping him rooted in place, and hears Louis’ cackles echoing in his ears for the next five minutes.

*

After a cab ride across the island, Harry finds himself on the outskirts of the town, looking out at rolling hills of green to perfectly contrast against the bright, blue sky. He snaps a few pictures, pocketing the photos when they print and develop. Louis is off to the side near what looks to be a shop, talking to one of the locals with a grin on his face and wildly gesturing.

Harry’s not sure why they’re standing here, lazing about, when he knows Louis had some things to show him — not that Louis is even paying much attention to him, his conversation with the local familiar enough to keep Harry excluded. Louis’ asking after the local’s family and his business, and just another box to tick off on Harry’s list of why Louis is perfect. He wants to brain himself on the nearest rock.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, summer air and letting it calm him. He shakes all thoughts of Louis out of his head and focuses on taking a few more pictures of his surroundings.

If Harry lived here all year round, he could picture himself amongst the hills, meditating or going on a run as the sun is rising or even some morning yoga to get his day started. It’s so peaceful and beautiful, and Harry’s already longing for a life he knows he’ll never have.

“Harry!” Louis calls from behind him.

Harry turns to find Louis straddling the ATV, strong thighs perched on either side, arms curled around a helmet in his lap. His eyes widen, as he looks between the ATV and Louis in confusion.

“Uh, what’s going on?” he asks, knowing full well what Louis’ response will be.

Louis puts on his helmet, looking every bit the part of a rider, and replies, “Well, Harold, exploring the island on foot would take too long for what I want to do, and some places don’t have the roads needed for cabs. C’mon, the day is young, but we have tons to do!”

“I’ve never been on an ATV before,” Harry mumbles, taking a hesitant step forward and gripping his camera a bit tightly.

“No time like the present!” Louis cheers and then revs his ATV for effect.

Harry looks at ATV warily. “I don’t know how to drive one.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m driving and you’re holding on.” He waves Harry over. “Now, carpe diem or whatever it is! We’re heading off!”

Harry takes a deep breath and climbs behind Louis. The seat is hard beneath him but sturdy. It’s not like a motorcycle where he feels like he could fall off if he leaned the wrong way, but it’s still not a car.

“You’ll have to hold on, Harold, or else you might fall off.” The local who’s been helping them hands Harry his own helmet, just as Louis puts on his helmet. “Safety first!”

“What would I even hold onto?” He shoves the helmet on top of his mop, curls obscuring his vision until he pulls the strands and tucks them away.

Louis merely grabs Harry’s wrists in response, wrapping them around his own waist. Instinctively, Harry interlocks his fingers, palms resting flat against Louis’ stomach. He can feel the older man’s breath stutter, and a part of him relishes the physical response he can get of Louis. _Imagine what he’d be like if you brought him to bed and —_

Louis takes off without warning, and Harry yelps, plastering himself to Louis’ back. Louis only laughs.

*

The ATV proves to be useful on island terrain when Louis takes Harry on a tour of the northwest coast, the two of them alone and riding alongside the road guard.

“I had the road guard installed a few months ago!” Louis half-explains, half-yells over his back and over the whipping breeze and the crash of the waves. “I saw this view when I first explored the island but knew it would be a safety hazard for people to travel here especially with ATVs! We couldn’t advertise this part of the island as part of the experience or else we’d have a lot of lawsuits on our hands! I don't know if you noticed, but a lot of our patrons end up drunk!”

Harry lets out a laugh, and he can feel the way Louis is smiling.

They’ve been driving for a few minutes now, Harry’s earlier panic abated with every second of safety that passes by. It’s actually invigorating — unlike the ride in the convertible — with the way Harry can feel the air whip past them, how they traverse over rocky ground.

“Why aren’t more people coming here?” Harry yells back, continuing to follow Louis from behind, a safe distance between them.

“By the time the guards were up, we didn’t have enough time to include it in any of the maps or any of the marketing materials!”

They drive over a bump and then down a hill, picking up speed as they go.

“So why bring me here?” Harry can’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of him. A part of him knows the answer, but he wants to hear it as masochistic as that may be.

“You seem like the type who would appreciate this, Styles,” he replies easily. He doesn’t wait for Harry to respond, speeding off with a cheer that seems to be ripped out of him due to adrenaline.

They follow the guard up and up and up the coast, birds flying overhead.

*

They come to a stop once they’ve ventured further into the treetops, the sounds of nature filling their ears. Louis hops off the ATV once it’s off, removing his helmet and shaking out his hair. He flicks his fringe to the side, pushing it aside with his thumb before beaming at Harry.

Harry gets off next, taking off his helmet and messing with his hair until he thinks he’s shaken the helmet hair away. He looks up at Louis who is staring at him with thinly disguised interest on his face. “So, Lou,” he starts, ignoring the way Louis seems to light up at the nickname, “where are we going?” He can hear the sound of running water, and it’s loud enough for Harry to realize it’s not too far away.

Louis winks and moves to take off his shirt, pulling it up off his body in one graceful movement and throwing it on top of the seat of the ATV. Harry tries not to stare, but how could he not?

For Harry, it’s like it all happened in slow motion. He’s still dealing with the fact that Louis is very much real. But this Louis, who lives adventurously and knows to explore the island atop an ATV, whose eyes crinkle when he smiles… it’s overwhelming how much Harry just wants to kiss him. He wants to press himself against the ATV and snog him senseless and feel his muffled laughter against his lips, drinking in the sound of it. He wants to press up against him to feel every hard and soft plane of his body. He wants to feel Louis’ skin beneath his fingertips and mar it with bruises, tracing quick kisses up and down his body.

Harry forces himself to look away, pulling his own shirt over his head and discarding it on top of the ATV as well. He puts his hands on his hips. “Where we going, Lou?” he tries again. If he flexes his stomach to show off the hours of work and healthy eating he’s put into his body, nobody will know but him.

He takes pleasure in the way Louis’ gaze lingers and in how his response is just that much delayed. “J-just follow me, okay?” Louis says ominously, walking away.

The grass and dirt crunch underfoot, Louis ahead by a few steps. He doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Harry. However, the water does get louder with each step.

“And here we are,” Louis says quietly, coming to a stop after they’ve moved maybe a hundred feet.

Harry steps forward and abruptly stops when the ground beneath him seems to end… and gives way to something straight out of Harry’s wildest dreams. “Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes widening.

Beneath them is a lagoon, waters as crystal blue as the sea. By no means could it be considered small, but it is small _enough_ so that people overhead can’t see it easily. Shrouded beneath the trees, it’s a secret getaway; one you wouldn’t find unless you were wandering or _looking_ for it.

He turns to his left and sees a waterfall cascading down and feeding water into the lagoon — explaining the rushing water that Harry heard earlier.

“Beautiful, innit?” Louis says softly, as though he’s careful not to burst the bubble they’re in.

“Beautiful doesn’t even cover it,” Harry replies honestly. The sun shines through the canopy of leaves above, the water glistening beneath its rays. It’s perfect for a picture, Harry thinks. He knows he wouldn’t ever want to forget a sight like this.

Without another word, Harry moves along the edge of the cliff, Louis still and watching him, until he’s opposite the waterfall. He crouches low to the ground, balancing on the balls of his feet, elbows resting on his thighs. He brings the Polaroid up to his eyes and adjusts the frame, moving it this way and that. Except he can’t find the right angle. No matter what, Harry finds himself unsatisfied with the frame.

Frustration must be evident because Louis clears his throat. Harry looks up.

“We could go down to the base of the waterfall by the lagoon. I think you’ll be able to get a better picture there,” he says like he’s tried.

Harry nods his head a bit too enthusiastically to be considered normal. Louis smirks and then moves towards and past Harry around the cliff.

Louis leads the way, pointing out which rocks are sturdy for them to climb down onto and warning Harry of the more unsteady paths. He flicks a cautious gaze nearly every five seconds, and, while Harry would normally get annoyed by such mother henning, he finds himself blushing, appreciative of the way Louis wants to take care of him, wants to make this whole experience even better for him — at the expense of his own festival.

A few more rocks down, they finally are at the base of the lagoon. Harry gets into position and finds that, yeah, it _is_ the perfect angle. He can get the top third of the waterfall, the rest of the shot comprised of the canopy above and the lights streaming down. After it prints, he gets a great, full-length picture of the waterfall. He snaps happily, repeating the process. Louis doesn’t say a word, perching himself off to the side.

It goes on like this for a few minutes until Harry’s completely satisfied.

He stands up to his full height and looks at Louis, maybe slightly overwhelmed. “Louis, I don’t know what to say except… thank you.” Boundaries be damned, he strides over and scoops Louis into his arms, burying his face into his neck. Friends hug, he tells himself, as he breathes in his scent.

It takes a second for Louis to respond, but when he does, he melts into the hug. “I’m really, really, _really_ glad you liked it,” he whispers even though there’s no one around. It’s like it’s a secret, but Harry, for one, takes pride in that he’s the only one who gets to know it.

They stand there, locked in each other’s embrace before Louis clears his throat. “Let’s take a dip then, shall we?” he whispers shyly, pulling away with a soft smile.

Harry nods.

Louis toes out of his shoes and socks and is the first to jump in, hugging his knees to his chest in a cannonball. He breaks the surface with a huge splash . After a few seconds, he breaks through the surface of the water, inhaling deeply, wet fringe matted against his forehead. He moves it away with his hand, treading in surprisingly deep water that’s up to his chest.

“Are you gonna join me, Styles?” he teases before floating up on his back and backstroking away.

Rolling his eyes, Harry sets his camera down away from the edge of the lagoon before jumping in, knees tucked to his chest.

The lagoon is deep, his feet barely touching the bottom when he springs up. It’s a proper place to swim.

The water feels good against his skin, cool, refreshing, and a relief against the blistering heat of the Caribbean sun.

When he blinks away the droplets in his eyelashes, he sees Louis against a rock wall, leaning against it, eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. He looks content.

Harry takes the silence between them to swim around the lagoon, wading near the edges before making it across in long, broad strokes. He likes the physical activity of it, likes that he’s enjoying full movement of his body, and isn’t confined to the up and down motion of the festival crowd. So he takes advantage of it until he’s panting.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Louis asks all of a sudden. He’s perched himself atop a rock, legs submerged in the water up to his knees. He’s kicking back and forth in the water, palms resting against the edge of the rock. Water streaks down his body from his hair before disappearing either in his shorts or onto the rock or into the water. He’s tan and wet and gorgeous and straight out of Harry’s biggest fantasies.

“Why do you wanna know?” Harry treads in water, a few feet away. His voice comes out a little breathy.

“Can’t a guy get to know his day’s companion?”

Harry studies him, looking for cracks in his pleasant demeanor, that maybe he’s just taking the piss out of him. But then again, nothing Louis’ done so far could back up those (frankly, unfounded) suspicions. He wades back towards the edge of the lagoon, resting his arms and shoulders on the rocks behind him.

“I wanted to be a rockstar. Grew up listening to the Stones and the Beatles, Bowie, you name it. Wanted to be just like Mick Jagger himself.”

Louis laughs a bit. “Can you even sing?”

“A little bit. I had a band in secondary school called White Eskimo.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “It didn’t work out after a while, but I can always say I was the frontman of a band.”

“Little Harold, frontman of a band called White Eskimo. Proper rockstar, weren’t you?”

“Everyone loved the band, Lewis. It’s a shame we had to break up.”

“No solo career?” He cocks his head.

Harry shakes his. “Wanted to try out for the X Factor, but never got around to it.”

“Well, go on, sing for me.” He flourishes his statement with a wave of his hand.

Harry sputters a bit. “What? No! I — that’s embarrassing!”

“It’s just you and me, Harold. No cameras, no phones, no anything. C’mon, let’s hear it!” Louis sits up straighter. “I’ll be Simon Cowell, and let’s see if you got what it takes.” He schools his features into the stoic expression that Simon is known for.

“You can’t be serious!” He laughs.

“C’mon, we haven’t got all day!”

Harry swallows, mouth feeling dry. He knows he can sing. He’s been to enough open mics and karaoke bars with Niall to know that he has a decent enough voice. He’s performed in front of small crowds before, but there’s something intimate about the way Harry is about to sing for Louis.

It’s just them, Harry singing to Louis, in the comfort of their own space, away from prying eyes. Again, this is something between them, tethering them closer together. Harry should say no, insist upon it, fight against the feelings, but one look at Louis — how he’s playing the part of judge so seriously with only the mirth in his eyes to give away his excitement — and his resolve just trickles down like the drops of water running along the sides of his face.

Harry takes a deep breath and hoists himself up onto the edge so that he can stand up and properly sing. To play along, he holds a fist up to his mouth and mimes like he’s singing into a microphone. He earns a giggle for the act, and it positively does not make Harry’s insides glow.

“Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she wonderful?” His voice echoes, deep and raspier from when he first used to sing this song in front of his mirror in preparation for the X Factor. It’s been awhile since he’s sang it, and it feels more raw singing it for Louis — but the moment felt right for it. “Isn’t she precious, less than one minute old? I never thought through love we’d be making one as lovely as she, but isn’t she lovely made from love?”

Harry takes a quick bow, jumping back into the water and hiding his face, flush with embarrassment. When he breaks the surface again, Louis is slack-jawed, eyes now filled with something indecipherable.

It makes Harry nervous. “I haven’t sang it in a while. It was going to be my audition song and — ” He’s rambling, but he pauses to look at Louis who is still silent. “ — and well, I never got to sing it for anyone. I guess you’re the first one to really be my audience, and I don’t even know — ”

“Harry,” Louis says softly, effectively silencing himself. He pushes himself back into the water and slowly wades towards him. “That was — that was amazing.”

“You really think so?” Harry can’t help but preen under the praise.

“You’ve got such an incredible voice.” He’s getting closer. “You’d be proper famous by now if you tried for the X Factor.”

Harry instinctively moves backwards. “Really?” And Harry is too far gone to notice just how breathless he sounds.

“Yeah…”

[(image)](http://i.imgur.com/6giu3zo.jpg)

Suddenly, Louis is in Harry’s space, crowding him against the rock wall, hands on the rocks and arms bracketing him. Harry swallows, his own hands trying to gain purchase behind him.

They’re quiet for a moment, the air around them loaded, sparks flying.

It’s Louis who ends up breaking the silence. “Could I kiss you?” he asks barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker to his lips, lingering there before moving back up to his eyes. “I really want to kiss you.”

And it’s funny how cruel life is. Because Harry really wants to kiss him too. Wanted to kiss him since the first moment they met each other. Not even in the way where he wants to take Louis to bed, but in the way that he wants to feel the warm press of Louis’ mouth against his and see if the cracks in Louis’ lips match perfectly to the cracks in his, if they’d meld so perfectly in this like how they do in nearly everything else. Because Harry’s already halfway to convinced that Louis could possibly, maybe be his soulmate — and _that’s a large step_.

Harry moves an inch forward just as Louis moves an inch forward.

But how can Harry account for all the ways in which attraction doesn’t seem to be a suitable word for the way Harry feels compelled to be near Louis? How does it explain the fact that Harry feels as though the universe conspired for them to meet? He feels it in his bones. Louis isn’t someone ordinary, not in the slightest. It’s been a day, and Harry knows it’s going to be near impossible to forget him.

“I… think we should head back, yeah?” Harry says instead, soft and slow like Louis might break.

Louis sighs, running his hand through his hair. He’s disappointed, and Harry can read it all over his face, the moment effectively broken. “Yeah, let’s… we can head back.”

As Louis swims away, Harry thinks of Niall and wonders if he’s doing the right thing.

*

The rest of the day feels normal after that — or as normal as it could be between one person who rejected the other’s advances.

Louis insists on accompanying Harry back to the cabana to change into attire for the rest of the day and into the night. It’s five minutes in that Harry notices that Louis’ withdrawn, not encouraging a dialogue as he had been for most of the time they’ve spent together. Harry knows exactly why, but he doesn’t want to make it any more awkward for either of them by bringing it up and embarrassing Louis.

So Harry steps in to divert Louis’ attention and asks him about his family. It’s a question that makes Louis light up immediately and launch into an explanation of his large family — parts of it unprompted, like they’re his favorite subject to talk about.

He has five sisters and one brother, two sets of twins among them. He’s the oldest among them, and there’s quite an age difference between him and the youngest — due mostly in part to his mother having him early on in life and the subsequent fathers that have come and gone in Louis’ life.

If he’s bitter about any of that, Louis doesn’t show it, only talking about how great Mark — his first stepfather — had been when he was still around, how they still keep in touch, and then about Dan, how good he is for his mother, how all of the children adore him.

But it’s nothing compared to the way he talks about his younger siblings and his mother, Jay. He tells Harry stories about his eldest sister, Lottie’s first boyfriend and how he’d successfully got the poor guy to call him ‘sir’ at all times; about Felicite — Fizzy for short — and how bright and revolutionary she is, having started a series of video logs on YouTube about her activist work; about the first set of twins, Daisy and Phoebe, who are at the age where they’re _embarrassed_ by their older brother (and, subsequently, how that makes Louis tear up sometimes because he can’t believe they’re already at that age); and then the youngest pair, Doris and Ernie, how he favors Ernie as the only other male in the family but how Doris is so talkative and playful, that he can’t help but see himself in her.

Lastly, Louis talks about Jay with unbridled adoration. She’s his best friend, he tells Harry. It had been the two of them for quite some time after his biological father left soon after his birth. It’d be a few years before Jay would meet Mark, but those were years that Louis cherished, baking with his mother on Sunday mornings, hearing her shout and scream circles around the dads at footie games… He tells Harry about how Jay had been the first person Louis ever told about possibly being something other than straight — that had been an emotional night for the two of them, Louis because he was so scared and Jay because she was so sad that he felt so scared to begin with.

Louis pours himself open easily for Harry, telling him his entire life story, and, in any other situation, Harry would be put off. But he’s enamored with the way Louis loves his family, having his own close ties to his mother, stepfather, and sister.

If Harry thought distracting Louis would work, it may have severely backfired.

With that, Louis leaves him, mood slightly improved between them, with a promise to meet up tonight in the VIP area for the last few performances of the night, but the question of Liam and Niall’s presence is left unanswered. He assumes they’ll be there — Liam and Louis _should_ be attached at the hip as co-founders for the event, shouldn’t they? But Harry’s not so sure with how forward Louis has been, and he’s even more unsure of Niall’s whereabouts.

Speaking of his friend, it seems as though Niall hasn't spent much time in the cabana, his side of the room looking like it's barely been touched, sans a few discarded clothing items haphazardly strewn on his bed. It's the only sign that Niall’s been to the cabana since yesterday. Neither has Niall contacted him strangely, almost as though he left Harry for dead — or worse, in Louis’ hands after seeing how well they got along together.

He sends Niall a quick text to check in, almost immediately receiving a reply. There’s a thumbs up emoji, a winking emoji, and a heart emoji, and Harry’s not sure what that may all mean.

His first thought is that maybe he was able to meet up with Louis and is doing what he can to woo him. He juxtaposes that thought with the memory of Louis asking to kiss him, but Harry isn’t even sure that Louis even has thrown a glance in Niall’s direction, hasn’t shown the slightest of interest in him, and Harry feels terrible for hoarding all of Louis’ affections. Niall is a great guy, and anyone would be happy to have him — perhaps if Louis took the time to see that, he wouldn’t be into Harry. Funny how a chance meeting could ruin so much.

But now, Harry wonders if he should tell Niall about today. He’s not sure how Niall would react to Louis admitting he’d like to kiss Harry and isn’t keen on ruining the mood for the entire weekend or earning Niall’s ire. He feels as though he should tell Niall before it’s too late and he really falls in love with Louis because Louis is easy to fall in love with. (It sends him into a slight frenzy when he thinks of how easy it would be to fall in love with Louis. He despondently wonders if it’s already too late for himself.)

Harry looks at his phone hard, blinking once or twice and frowning. He types a few texts, ranging from a calm, cool, and collected “hey, hung out with louis today, he told me he wanted to kiss me and i said no lol” to a long, panicked “so i’m pretty sure louis likes me and i like him too fuck i’m so sorry help.” Nothing he types though eases the knot in his stomach enough to send.

Somehow, Harry talks himself out of telling Niall, convinces himself it’s for the “best” or whatever that means.

By night’s arrival, Harry has had plenty of time to think about the day.

*

Harry makes his way to the VIP tent, wearing a red Hawaiian print shirt, completely unbuttoned to reveal his torso with a pair of light jean shorts. It’s a bit warmer than the previous night, and that’s what Harry will use as his reason for being so unabashedly on display. (He might also have to blame the multiple shots of whatever was left of Niall’s liquor stash in the cabana. So much thinking warrants a few drinks, he reasons again.)

To his surprise, Niall and Liam _are_ there, talking to Louis. They’re all talking animatedly, laughing enough to be heard over the music and the crowd, which is impressive.

Filled with nerves at having to interact with all of them, Harry makes a quick stop to one of the alcohol booths, flashing his unlimited liquor wristband, and not-so-discreetly pounding back a tequila sunrise in front of the staff – Wasn’t he regretting those this morning? – before asking for another. The girl behind the counter is kind enough not to cut him off since it doesn’t seem like he’s plastered but does offer him a bottle of water with concerned eyes, which he sheepishly accepts.

How will Harry be expected to deal with trying to conceal his attraction for Louis in front of Niall? Niall _knows_ him; they live together, they’ve _pulled_ together. Niall, being his best friend, knows every single one of Harry’s moves and lines. God, it’s going to be so transparent if Harry doesn’t rein it in.

Perhaps, drinking himself into oblivion isn’t Harry’s smartest course of action, but he’s already tipsy, bordering on drunk. (It might not last long, pending how the tequila will hit him in the next hour.)

Harry makes his way over to his group of friends – ha, friends – and announces his arrival with a giggle, a raised cup, and a “There you all are!” He takes it back, he’s definitely drunk.

“Haz!” Niall cheers, easily slipping over to his side, and slinging an arm around his shoulders. He pulls him down to his height by a few inches and smacks a wet kiss to Harry’s cheek. Harry’s not the only drunk one, it seems.

He scrunches his nose and wipes his cheek with his palm before turning to Louis and Liam. “Liam! Lou!”

Niall pokes his side. “One full day together, and Harry’s got Louis on a nickname basis,” It’s completely teasing, and Harry freezes. Louis looks smug, Liam is smirking, and Harry just feels caught out already. Shit, it hasn’t even been a minute.

“Did you show him the waterfall like you wanted, Tommo?” Niall asks, but his question is followed by a quick yelp. Louis shoots daggers at Niall, his foot swiftly returning to himself after probably kicking Niall in the shin.

“They knew?” Harry cocks his head.

“Er, I told them when I asked Niall if I could show you around,” Louis answers. He seems quite sober if he’s able to give that kind of answer (it shouldn’t be as eloquent to Harry, but he’s drunk, and everything’s more eloquent than him right now), and Harry decides that’s not okay.

If Harry is gonna be drunk, then everyone’s gonna be drunk.

“Cheers to that!” Liam exclaims, and Harry realizes he’s said that out loud.

*

Harry gets drunker as the night progresses, the four of them staying close together. They’re expected to keep up with Niall’s tank of a tolerance, which is admittedly a game Harry knows he’ll lose again and again, despite knowing what exactly is in store for him.

But as the drinks flow freely and the music gets louder and day two gets closer and closer to an end, the VIP tent is filled to the brim with people. Louis has positioned himself in front of Harry, swaying like he did the night before, albeit a bit more reckless if the amount of jagerbombs that Niall made him do is any indication. Because of how tightly packed the VIP crowd seems to be tonight, Harry finds himself plastered to Louis’ back, every sway of Louis’ hips directly brushing against his clothed groin every few minutes. To stop himself from moaning, Harry’s taken to keeping his mouth occupied with drinks. (It’s not boding well for him.)

Some DJ named Cheat Codes is on stage, playing a remixed cover of a song from when Harry was in primary, the type of song that’s slow and sensual and actually warrants the kind of movement from Louis’ hips.

_But if you think you’re gonna get away from me, better change your mind, the Henny got me feeling right. You’re going home with me tonight._

Niall and Liam are off to the side, not even paying attention to what’s going on between their best friends, lost in their own world, belting out along to the song.

Harry’s eyes drift downwards, and he immediately wishes he didn’t. The board shorts that Louis’ wearing fit tight around his bum, the swell of it mouth-watering. _That_ is what has been nearly grinding on Harry right now for the past however long they’ve been like this, and Harry prays to several gods for self-restraint. His hips are _right there_ for Harry to hold onto, and Harry knows Louis would melt right back into it, would welcome it probably. And… Harry really wants to.

_Let me hold you, girl, caress my body. You got me going crazy. You turn me on, turn me on._

Harry raises his eyes to the sky, sending him another quick prayer for control, but it’s interrupted by Louis pushing his arse out right into Harry’s groin. He’s not quick enough to stop the intake of breath, and Louis looks over his shoulder, looking sweaty and hot and – _God,_ Harry’s not built to stop temptation like this.

“Y’alright there, Harold?” Louis slurs, eyes heavy and pupils blown. His lips are wet with alcohol, skin slick with sweat.

“I-I’m good,” he attempts to say, but the end of it is strangled, just as Louis moves his arse _purposefully_ into Harry. Unable to stop himself, his eyes flutter closed, blood rushing to his cock and making him hard as steel, despite all the alcohol that’s in his system. He’s doing this on purpose, Harry realizes, and he truly does not know what he’s gotten himself into, dealing with who seems to be the son of some god of temptation himself.

Louis smirks and takes initiative, taking Harry’s free hand and placing it on his hip. He shuffles backwards until his back is pressed firmly against Harry’s front. And then he moves.

_For the longest time, you’re staring like you want me. I can feel your eyes, so go tell your friends goodbye. We can make our way outside._

Harry’s drunk, but he doesn’t even think a sober Harry could _not_ give into what Louis’ giving him. He moves right with Louis, gripping Louis’ hip and sliding forward and under the fabric of his shirt. He thumbs at the man’s hipbone, as he follows Louis’ dirty grind. Louis lets out a small gasp at the feeling of Harry’s fingers against his bare skin, and Harry snaps.

Dropping his drink to the grass without a care, Harry puts his other hand onto Louis’ hips and pulls back, shoving them closer together, more firmly together, giving it right back to Louis.

_If you think they’re gonna stop you coming with me, better change their minds, the Henny got us feeling right, you’re going home with me tonight._

They dance like that, every movement of Louis’ bum against Harry’s hard cock sending sparks of pleasure up Harry’s spine. But then his cock fits itself right into the crack of his arse, and Louis lets out a soft moan, throwing his head back onto Harry’s shoulder, eyes closed in bliss.

Harry’s instincts kick in, and he’s mouthing along Louis’ jaw and the column of his neck, tasting the sweat. One of Louis’ hands snakes its way into the hair at Harry’s nape, tugging hard enough for Harry to let out an obscene moan. The move earns Louis a swift bite to the neck, and Louis arches up into it.

It’s downright filthy what they’re doing in the crowd. They’re nearly dry fucking in front of their friends, friends that Harry can’t be half-arsed to care about right now in his state when he’s got this beautiful boy in his arms, got this beautiful boy that he wants to _wreck_.

Harry stops and roughly turns Louis around, shoving a thigh in between Louis’ legs, right against his own hard cock, and grinds right into him.

“Graceful,” Louis breathes out, meaning for it to come out like a tease but sounding more like a whimper. Harry didn’t think he could get any harder than he already is, but the sound coming out of Louis’ mouth proves him wrong.

Harry reaches around Louis and cups his bum in his hands, the meat of it seemingly perfect for his hands, and Louis lets out a gasp that seems to be punched out of him.

Harry doesn’t waste any time crashing their lips together, the hesitation of the day nowhere to be found. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he’s screaming at himself to stop because Niall is only a few feet away. But then Louis licks into his mouth, and all Harry can hear in his head is _more, more, more, more_ ad nauseam.

Louis is the first to pull away, a string of saliva separating them. Harry opens his eyes to see Louis flushed and dazed, the cerulean in his eyes traded for dark, unadulterated want, lips slick and red. Harry’s sure he looks similar.

“Come back to mine,” Louis pants.

Two sheets to the wind, and Harry says yes.

*

If Harry were more sober, he’d pay attention to what Louis’ cabana looks like, but as it is, he can barely get a tour of the cabana, Louis leaving little space between them and rushing Harry all the way to the bedroom.

Harry notes the four-poster bed, complete with sheer curtains, for what seems to be quite the romantic room, before he’s turned around and shoved onto it, Louis following close after.

Louis straddles Harry’s waist, grinding his arse against Harry’s groin and moaning filthily into his mouth. Harry drinks every single noise in, running his hands up and down Louis’ sides. He tugs at Louis’ shirt, and Louis breaks away to rip it off before kissing him again.

Harry licks inside Louis’ mouth, tasting the remnants of smoke and beer. There’s nothing gentle and soft about the kiss, and soon, Harry takes control, rolling them over. Louis’ legs automatically wrap around Harry’s waist, their clothed cocks seeking friction against one another.

“Fuck, come on,” Louis goads, his hands grabbing at Harry’s bum to pull him closer. Harry growls and pins Louis’ hands above him, rocking into him.

Louis tries to wriggle out of Harry’s grasp, but Harry holds his wrists tighter, pulling away and mouthing at Louis’ neck. “I love seeing you so pliant like this for me, just taking it,” he whispers into his skin.

Louis shudders. “Yeah, yeah,” he babbles, lost in the pleasure, “I-I want it, Harry.”

The friction is good – not good enough – but they continue to rut against each other, chasing the stars that move behind their eyelids.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that,” Harry continues, breathing heavy. He doesn’t know what’s coming over him, his filter shot to hell. Something about Louis just makes him snap. “Asking me to kiss you at the waterfall, pressing up against me all the time, always touching me. You made it hard for me to resist.”

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you f-for so long,” Louis responds, groaning when Harry sucks a mark into his neck.

Drunk, hazy, and thinking to himself how they're wearing too many clothes, Harry wastes no time in pulling up and away. He lets go of Louis’ wrists, and Louis watches him, as he wriggles down Louis’ body. He removes his shirt, as Louis follows suit, then pops the button on his jeans, moving off the bed to take them off.

He stumbles a bit, foot caught in the leg of his pants, and Louis laughs. “Having trouble there, Bambi?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, finally freeing himself. He looks up at Louis on the bed, and he’s – completely naked. Harry stops, watching the hard line of his cock, lying thick against his stomach, smearing his skin with precome. He’s laid out on his bed, idly running a finger up and down his torso, lips upturned in a smirk. “You’re beautiful,” Harry breathes.

Louis squirms a bit under his intense gaze. “Shouldn’t be surprised you’re into the entire compliments during sex deal,” he quips.

“How could I not?” he replies, voice reverent, before making his way back to the bed. He bends down pressing a kiss to Louis’ ankles and traces up his leg with his lips, the touch of them fleeting as he nears where Louis wants him to touch the most. He pauses his movements to look up and sees Louis looking intently at him, his hands gripping the sheets. He looks so utterly wrecked right now, biting down on his bottom lip, eyes hooded with desire.

Harry leans forward, pressing his nose into the crease between Louis’ groin and thigh and smelling his arousal. He sucks a mark, high on his thigh, and Louis makes these breathy little sounds that go straight to Harry’s cock. He continues to mark up Louis, and when Louis starts getting impatient, hips thrusting off the bed of their own volition, he places his hands on his thighs to hold him in place. Louis’ whimpering now, his hands finding their way to Harry’s head, fingers tangling themselves in his locks.

Compliant, Harry pulls away and stares at his cock for a moment, tracing the slightest of a curve upwards and the vein that run along the underside of it with his eyes. Then he takes the red tip of it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head, before popping off. A taste that pulls a broken moan from Louis’ throat.

He applies more pressure against his thighs, keeping him pinned to the bed, before dipping his head again and taking Louis fully into his mouth.

Louis’ hands bunch chunks of his hair, as Harry bobs up and down, hollowing his cheeks and taking every thick inch of Louis in. He pulls away for a moment to breathe, licking the large vein and letting Louis’ cock rub against his cheek in the process. Then he mouths at the side of it before taking Louis in again.

Harry can already tell how Louis likes it. He feels like he already knows how to rile him up, how to bring him close to the precipice, when to stop, and how to bring him back again.

He can feel Louis shuddering beneath him, his body giving into the pleasure, and Harry stops all movement.

“Flip on your stomach, Lou,” he says, voice already rough like gravel.

Louis obliges almost a bit too eagerly — and Harry makes a mental note of that — arse high in the air, knees pressed against the mattress, and Louis, in all of his curves, arches his back, head falling down to rest on his forearms. He’s propped up on all fours, presenting the puckered skin of his hole like a gift. He looks over his shoulder at Harry silently, eyes wide open with something like an invitation. Harry smirks, watches as Louis’ perfect arse sticks out, and he waits, waits until he’s wriggling for the ghost of a touch, waits until Louis’ whimpering and begging just to be _touched_.

“Harry, I’m gonna kill you if you don’t do something.”

“Patience, Lou. Just admiring the view.” He grabs each cheek of Louis’ arse, fistfuls of skin and meat in his palms, as he spreads the cheeks apart and then lets go, watching them bounce back into place. He does this a couple of times before Louis’ begging for more, always begging for more.

“Admire it later,” he grunts, pressing his arse back towards Harry.

Harry moves forward, pressing his nose into one cheek. “So impatient.” He then holds the cheeks apart this time and dips to kitten lick at the area between Louis’ perineum. He can hear Louis’ sharp intake of breath. Another lick, and he feels him shudder. Another lick, and Louis’ hips are bucking backwards for more contact.

“H-Harry, m-more, please…” Louis breathes out, voice unsteady.

And that does it for Harry. He licks one long stripe up and then down, Louis emitting sigh after sigh of relief, although the feeling doesn’t last for long because Louis wants more, chasing the feeling.

Harry licks at the rim, at the delicate muscle there, taking his time with each dip and swipe. “O-oh my God…” He feels Louis shift his hips towards the bed in an attempt to get friction on his cock, so Harry spits into one of his hands and reaches to Louis’ front to fist his cock before Louis can reach. Louis’ entire body jolts at the sudden contact, and then Harry’s stroking him in perfect time with his licks.

“You taste so good, babe,” Harry mutters. “Gonna open you up with my tongue. Is that okay?”

Louis nearly cries. “Yes, please.”

Harry removes his hand from Louis’ cock and spreads him open wide. He watches as Louis’ hole clenches around nothing, slick with his spit. He then leans forward and prods at his rim with his tongue, pushing through the ring of muscle. Louis just about screams.

Harry fucks him in and out with his tongue, kneading the skin of his bum and holding him steady, as Louis begins to ride Harry’s face.

“Can I fuck you?” Harry asks, pulling away.

“God, yes,” Louis chokes out, ripping open the drawer of the bedside table. His hand reaches inside, digging around, and then throws lube and condoms in Harry’s direction.

Harry sits up, flipping open the lube and drizzling a generous amount on his fingers. He hovers over Louis back, fingers moving up and down his rim. He presses kisses into the back of Louis’ neck, moving down and kissing every single knob of Louis’ spine, down, down, down until he meets the dimples of his back.

With a final kiss, he presses a finger in, and Louis nearly sighs with relief. It’s wet, tight heat, and Harry doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last a second once he’s in him.

A few minutes pass, and Harry’s taking his sweet time until Louis is fucking back onto his fingers.

“Gonna put another one in, okay?”

“M’not delicate, Harold. Honestly – ” His voice breaks on a whimper. “ – I can take a few fingers. I’ve taken cock befo – ” The words die on his tongue, as Harry presses another long finger in, pressing in on his walls, scissoring him open.

“You love to talk, don’t you?” Harry hums.

“You just like – _fuck_ – shutting me up.”

Harry smiles before putting his focus on finding that one sweet spot inside Louis. He pushes his fingers in and out, spreading them around and properly fucking Louis. But with every sound, noise, and whimper Louis makes, Harry can feel himself moving closer to the precipice, so he decides to move things along a bit faster.

He takes the lube with one hand and drizzles a bit more onto Louis’ rim before pushing in a third finger.

“Oh, fuck!” Louis yells, and Harry looks up to see his eyes clenched shut, knuckles nearly white from gripping the sheets so hard.

“God, look at how well you’re taking my fingers,” he says. “Bet you’d take my cock so well, too.”

“I – _shit_ – never took you for such a dirty talker,” Louis bites out. “S’hot as fuck, but – who knew?”

“All for you, Lewis.” And then Louis’ entire body jolts, as his fingers crook and brush against what he figures to be Louis’ prostate if his reaction is any indication. “Right there?”

“Yes, _fuck_! Right there, please!” he begs.

Harry fucks his fingers in and out more, opening Louis up, but making sure to brush against the bundle of nerves again and again. When he feels Louis on the cusp of coming, he slows his movements, receiving a string of expletives in return, but once he knows Louis’ come down just enough, he goes back to work, and Louis’ rising and rising again.

“Harry, I-I’m gonna come if you don’t – get in me right now! M’ready, I promise, _God_!”

Harry smirks, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. He rips open the condom with his teeth and slides it over his cock, which looks to be an angry red. Harry really wonders how long he’s going to last, and then he shuffles forward, the tip of his cock resting right above Louis’ rim.

Harry pauses, taking in Louis beneath him. He’s panting, back beading with sweat. “Wanna see you,” he says before flipping Louis onto his back without warning.

Louis is even more gorgeous like this. He’s flushed from the neck down, dick curved up on his stomach. His chest is heaving, nipples hardened and pebbled. His fringe is matted to his forehead with sweat, lips bitten raw. Gorgeous – and Harry did all of that to him.

“I really hate that you can flip me over and manhandle me like this,” Louis pants. Harry pointedly looks at his cock, nearly purple with arousal. Louis kicks at Harry’s thigh. “Shut up, and fuck me already.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Harry moves atop Louis, holding his body with one hand pressed near the side of Louis’ head, the other hand guiding his cock to his rim. Louis holds his legs up beneath his knees, spreading himself open wide. He gasps when the head of Harry’s cock catches on his rim and throws his head back as Harry pushes in.

“God, you’re so – big.”

Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ collarbone, breathing heavy as he focuses on not fucking shooting his load when he’s not even fully inside. It’s just so tight and hot, and Harry’s never been aroused like this ever. He’s sure that Louis’ ruined him for sex forever.

“Do you need time?”

“N-no, just keep going.” He pauses to breathe in. “I-I like it to hurt a bit.”

Harry’s hips stutter forward, pressing more of his length into Louis unexpectedly. “God, fuck, you can’t just _say_ stuff like that, Lou.”

“What?” he asks, amusement in his voice. “That I like it – rough?”

Harry groans, pushing all the way in until he’s bottomed out. He stops his movements, trying to count in his head so that he doesn’t come. He wants to make this good for Louis, so, so good, and he can’t do that if he’s coming within seconds. Louis deserves to be fucked proper, he thinks.

They stay like that for a few seconds, acclimating themselves to the feeling. And then Harry grinds his hips in slow figure-eights. He kisses Louis and begins to move slowly inside him, dragging his cock out until the tip is nearly out before pushing in. It sets a slow yet torturous pace.

Louis pulls away. “Come on, Haz, you can give me more. I can take it.”

Harry pushes all the way forward, taking Louis’ hands and winding them around his neck. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, and Harry puts his hands on either side of Louis’ waist, pressing into the skin, before pounding into Louis with more force.

Louis moans brokenly with every thrust. Harry looks down at the place where their bodies meet and watches with awe as his cock disappears inside Louis. It makes him move faster and harder, gripping Louis’ waist hard enough to bruise. He’s fucking into Louis now, changing up his angle every now and then to find his prostate again.

He must find it when Louis’ nails rake down Harry’s back, crying out high and loud, probably loud enough to disturb any neighbors. “Right there, Harry! Right fucking there! Don’t stop!”

Harry pistons into Louis, continuing a relentless rhythm that seems to hit Louis’ prostate with each thrust. “Fuck, Lou, look at you. Come for me,” he whispers. “I wanna see you come so hard for me, _baby_.”

With that, Louis comes untouched with a yell, spurting onto their stomachs, some of it catching on his chest and his chin. The clench around Harry’s cock is nearly unbearable, and Harry slows down his thrusts, pushing all the way in and grinding in him. He watches as Louis’ cock blurts out one last string of come before Louis lays pliant on the bed, arms against his side. He looks utterly spent.

“Beautiful, baby,” Harry mutters, pressing kisses along Louis’ jaw.

He’s about to pull out and finish himself off when Louis stops him with a gentle touch to his bicep. “No, I want you to finish in me.”

“What? Aren’t you sensitive?”

“Please, I want it.” He smiles weakly up at Harry.

“Oh, fuck me,” Harry moans, picking up his thrusts again and quickly feeling the familiar heat low in his gut. Louis grimaces, a soft wince at the oversensitivity, but his softened cock twitches with interest, and Harry’s again reminded that, yes, Louis does like it a bit rough.

He pounds and pounds into Louis, chasing his orgasm until he finally shoots hard into the condom, vision whiting out from the intensity.

Harry unwittingly flops on top of Louis, who makes a weak, pained noise, and rolls over to the side, pulling out of Louis.

It’s only then when they’re lying there, panting, that Harry remembers Niall.

*

The panic comes in, long after they’ve cleaned up, after Louis’ cuddled himself into Harry’s side, snuffling in his sleep, head rested on Harry’s shoulder. Blankets cover them from the waist down, too hot for full coverage.

It’s when the adrenaline, the rush, the alcohol disappears, and, in their place, a heavy weight of guilt settles onto Harry’s bones. He’s done the unthinkable and betrayed Niall’s trust.

His heart clenches when he looks down at Louis, so peacefully asleep and so content.

Harry waits until Louis’ asleep, then waits a bit longer – makes an excuse to himself about how he wants to make sure that Louis is asleep, not that it has anything to do with how beautiful Louis is when he’s sleeping like this – and pulls himself out of Louis’ grasp. He moves delicately, sure not to wake Louis up, and gathers his clothes, tiptoeing out of the room.

Harry walks out of Louis’ cabana, feeling low – although he’s not sure if it’s because he betrayed Niall or if he just snuck out of Louis’ bed without saying goodbye.

 

*

Harry wakes up in his own bed, groggy and with one hell of a hangover. He’s a bit disoriented as he blinks his eyes open, the light streaming in through the windows only exacerbating the throb in his head. He lets out a heavy breath and immediately smells the tequila, his stomach immediately rolling. He shoots out of bed, all but diving into the bathroom, and sticks his head into the toilet, retching up all of the drinks from last night. He grips the porcelain with shaky fingers, his entire body shuddering from feeling so sick.

Harry stays in position at the toilet, heaving and willing the nausea to go away with his eyes squeezed shut. The headache behind his eyes pulses, making it hard for him to really focus on anything other than the aches and pains of his body.

A few minutes pass like that, and when he feels like he’s not about to empty out his stomach again, he pushes himself off the toilet, leaning against the bathroom wall. He takes a deep breath and reaches to flush the toilet. Just the sound of it is grating on Harry’s head, and he groans.

So much alcohol, and it’s not even the end of the festival. Maybe he’ll be able to get away with sleeping the day away.

What even happened yesterday?

“Ah, good morning, sunshine,” Niall chirps from inside the bedroom.

Harry lifts his head and turns bleary eyes to a Niall that’s haphazardly dressed in the clothes he was wearing the night before, right down to his flip-flops. He scrunches his brows together, wondering why Niall is wearing his sandals when he’s just woken up, when another unfortunate bout of nausea comes over him and forces his head back into the toilet.

“I wanna die,” Harry croaks into the bowl, voice hoarse from throwing up.

“Now, now, Haz, we still have one more day. You just gotta power through,” Niall cheers. He steps over Harry and strips completely down before turning on the shower and climbing inside – all while Harry is still face down in the toilet.

The sound of the shower, combined with Niall’s humming, is doing nothing to make Harry’s hangover any better, so he just stays hunched over and relegates himself to this position for the rest of the day.

“So where did you and Louis run off to last night?” Niall asks over the spray of the water.

“We – “

Oh, fuck.

Harry’s reminded of the events of the night prior with startling clarity despite all that he had to drink. He remembers the crowd at the VIP tent, how he and Louis were forced – _“forced,”_ air quotes and all – into close quarters, how Louis had grinded up against him with clear intentions in mind, how Harry had given into it all – the heat of the moment. He remembers snogging Louis in the middle of the VIP tent for all to witness – even Niall himself – and then he remembers…

Harry remembers going back to Louis’ cabana and –

He’s a terrible fucking person and a terrible fucking best friend.

Harry throws up again, unable to give Niall a response.

*

Even though Niall had been teasing Harry to get ready for the festival, he’s surprisingly patient with Harry, taking care of him in the morning through his hangover. He helps Harry back to bed and puts a wet flannel onto his forehead to cool him down. He provides Harry with paracetamol and water – funnily enough, Harry packed those things for Niall – and places a bin next to the bed for Harry to throw up in, so he’s not on his knees all morning to throw up in the toilet. Niall takes proper care of him as though a music festival that Niall’s been begging to go to isn’t happening right outside.

“Niall, you don’t have to stay here, you know that, right?” Harry mumbles. “I’ll be okay. Might feel like dying for a bit, but I’ll be fine.”

Niall shrugs. “Nah, not missing much at the festival. You look kind of rough. I’ll feel better knowing you didn’t get alcohol poisoning from trying to match me drink for drink.”

Harry grunts. “I don’t know why I haven’t learned my lesson. M’never gonna be able to keep up with your alcohol tolerance.”

With a pat to the stomach, Niall grins, easy and carefree.

“How do you not even have a headache?” Harry asks.

“When have you ever known me to have a hangover?”

Niall laughs when Harry frowns, unable to think of a single time.

It gets Harry to thinking just how long he and Niall have known each other. Their friendship is strong, he knows; it’s a byproduct of being such close friends for so long. The fact that he and Niall live together in spite of their startling differences in wealth should clue Harry in enough that he holds a special place in Niall’s life.

Despite all the wealth, Niall’s had to deal with his share of people who’ve used him for their own means. Whether that involved VIP spots in clubs, exclusive invites to music industry parties, or a chance to present a demo to Niall’s father, Niall has plenty of friends, but he keeps most of them at an arm’s length, not willing to let them in and trust them.

It’s plain for Harry to see that Niall truly trusts him to be in his inner circle, bringing him and spoiling him constantly without fear or insecurities. Harry’s the first person Niall thinks of when he wants to embark on a new adventure. Even if Harry moans and complains, Niall knows he can always count on Harry to be the best friend he needs.

Niall deserves the best friend he’s always thought Harry to be. Harry might’ve done something to hurt Niall, but he’ll do what he can to make it right.

*

After a quick nap, Harry wakes up feeling a lot better than he did only hours prior. His stomach doesn’t feel like it’s turning, and his head no longer feels as though it’s going to explode. He’s grateful to Niall for taking care of him.

Speaking of, Niall is still dutifully in the room, lying on his bed on his phone with a smile on his face. He’s texting someone it looks like, and he’s oblivious to Harry waking up.

Gingerly, Harry sits up in bed, wiping the sleep away from his eyes.

“Good morning again, sunshine!” Niall exclaims. The volume doesn’t do much but to startle Harry, which he counts as a win. “Feeling better?”

“Much better,” Harry murmurs, stretching his neck. “Where are we heading off to today?”

Niall blinks and cocks his head. “We?”

Harry frowns. He wasn’t expecting this reaction. “Yeah, I was gonna spend the day with you…” He trails off, suddenly unsure.

“Oh, of course, Haz!” Niall quickly says. “I just thought you’d want to… you know, hang out with Louis?” It’s not said maliciously, which is somewhat of a relief because that means Niall may not know what transpired between him and Louis, but it still makes Harry inwardly wince.

After all, he’s spent enough time with Louis that Niall’s even noticed it and expected it. Sure, Louis got Niall’s permission for yesterday and maybe Niall ditched him and Louis at dinner on Friday, but there’s no excuse for why Harry abandoned him last night.

“I came here to this island with _you_ ,” Harry says instead, pouting. He reasons that he’ll talk to Niall about all of this when the weekend’s over. He’ll explain that he was drunk, that he didn’t know what he was doing, and then beg for forgiveness when Niall threatens to throw him out on the street.

Niall cackles. “You’re such a sap. Fine, you can tag along. Now, get dressed! Cash Cash’s set is up in an hour, and I wanna make sure I’m there!”

Harry gets up and smiles. “Okay, okay, I’m up!”

Harry manages to avoid all talk of last night, distracting Niall with questions about his favorite sets so far. He gets dressed, while Niall babbles on about Sigala, Jonas Blue, and Kygo on Friday, Duke Dumont and Cheat Codes on Saturday, and now he’s talking about Cash Cash, Sam Feldt, and Steve Aoki for today.

They leave the cabana together, Niall’s arm wrapped around Harry’s waist and Harry’s arm slung around Niall’s shoulders.

“Thanks for coming with me to this, Haz,” Niall says sincerely. Harry turns to look at him, but Niall’s staring straight ahead with a smile on his face. “I know you didn’t want to come, and I know I sometimes pressure you into doing things with me, but I’m really glad you came. I’m more glad that you and Tommo seem to have hit it off.” He chuckles. “I was really worried that you’d hate every second here, but you look happy, you know?”

Harry swallows. “Yeah, it’s been great, Ni.” It sounds weak even to his ears.

They continue to walk towards the grounds, Niall oblivious to the distracted look in Harry’s eyes.

*

The day is spent in a drunken haze.

Harry hasn’t really spent a full day on the grounds, despite the festival, but committed to sticking by Niall’s side throughout the entire day, he powers through, running on Vodka Red Bulls and copious amounts of food and water to fend off any hangovers. He’s learned his lesson from the morning.

As expected, they avoid the VIP tents, Niall preferring to actually be present in the crowds. It means that it should be easier to avoid Louis, to avoid the awkward conversation, and he can try to make it through this last day without any more mistakes.

Because, yeah, what they did was a mistake. He’s been mulling it over all morning and all day. He can’t get rid of the thought that he shouldn’t have slept with Louis, he shouldn’t have ever let it get to that point. He keeps thinking about how he knew who Louis was, what Louis means to Niall, and he still took and took and took so selfishly that Harry can barely stomach it. Niall’s been nothing but good to him for all these years, and how does Harry repay him? By sleeping with a guy he likes, someone he’s been waiting to see, someone he’s flown all the way out to the Caribbean to see.

So Harry throws himself into Niall’s presence, engaging him constantly and making the last day all about Niall. He goes where Niall wants to go and doesn’t complain a single second. He tries to make it as good of a day as he can get.

If he’s a little too clingy, Niall makes no mention of it, just allows Harry to stand by his side and jump alongside him to each act that comes on the stages.

There’s a few close calls when he knows he sees Louis in the crowd, can see the furrow in his brows as he’s distracted, looking around. Harry thinks Louis is looking for him, and then he tries not to think about how Louis woke up this morning to an empty and cold bed without a trace of the events of the night before. He can only hope that Louis wasn’t hurt enough by it.

But that proves to be fruitless as Louis finds him across the crowd, locking eyes. Harry’s stood still for a moment, pinned in place by Louis’ gaze. There’s plenty of crowd between them, but he can still see the disappointment and confusion clear on Louis’ face. It’s when Louis tries to take a step forward – presumably to confront Harry – that he pulls Niall away and scurries off to hide again.

It happens again and again, now that Harry _definitively_ _knows_ Louis is actively looking for him. But Harry manages to slip away at every single moment. He doesn’t want to have that conversation. He’s already bracing himself for the inevitable “I fucked your crush” talk with Niall, and he doesn’t want to have to let Louis down. He’s done enough for one weekend.

Niall, meanwhile, is oblivious to this game of cat and mouse, shrugging and enjoying himself, much to Harry’s relief.

Of course, it doesn’t last forever.

*

As they’re in the crowd, Harry’s had multiple drinks spilled on him. He hasn’t minded thus far, knowing it’s a losing battle to try and avoid the type of sweaty, sticky mess that is the festival crowd, but when a girl atop her boyfriend’s shoulders drunkenly pours an entire cup of something on him, he figures enough is enough and resolves to go back to his cabana to wash it all off.

“Niall, I’m gonna head back to shower and change!” He thumbs in the general direction of their cabana.

Niall nods, smiling widely. “Take your time! I’ll be here!” His eyes are a bit glazed; it’s already six p.m. and Niall is well on his way to plastered, going a bit harder than the previous two days. Niall’s never been known to get a hangover, but Harry would bet a lot that tomorrow will change that.

Harry gives Niall a strong pat to the back, causing the Irishman to stumble forward a bit, sloshing the drink in his hand. But Niall takes it in stride, cackling about being caught off guard and asking Harry to do it again to show that he can stand his ground. Shaking his head fondly, Harry ruffles Niall’s hair and turns to make his way out of the crowd.

Harry maneuvers his way through as quickly as he can, trying to get to a shower before the drink really sticks to his body. He knows he can wash it all off, but between the sweat, the grime, and the drinks, Harry’s not feeling too clean. He’s actually pretty sure parts of his skin are burning from the alcohol.

Once out in the clearing and nearing the beach, he breaks out into a little jog. The breeze as he goes is nice against his skin, cooling him down a bit despite the light bout of exercise. The sun is beginning to move towards the horizon now, summer in full swing, the days and sunlight stretching in length.

“Harry!” a voice calls out, and Harry stumbles a bit, but he doesn’t dare look behind him.

It’s familiar, and Harry knows why it’s familiar. It makes him jog a bit faster, hoping that he can play it off like he just didn’t hear him.

But Louis is nothing but persistent.

“Harry, come on, I know you can hear me!” Louis shouts, trailing after him. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and amps up his pace to try and get away from Louis. (It may be a dick move on his part, but he doesn’t want to have to have this conversation with Louis — not when they’re so close to ending the weekend and can go back to their individual lives without ever intersecting again.)

“Harry!” Louis calls out, voice breathy from exertion. “Harry!”

Finally, as Harry reaches the area where the grounds meet the sand, he thinks he’s in the clear. He’s already thinking of locking himself in the cabana until Louis gives up, but then an arm tugs him back.

Louis is bloody fast.

Harry instinctively rips his arm out of Louis’ grasp, and Louis uses the momentary lapse in Harry’s momentum to walk in front of him and stop him from moving further. “Harry, what the fuck is going on?!” he says sharply, brows furrowed and lips pressed in a tight line. It’s a far cry from the way Louis had looked at him for the past two days, and Harry’s heart drops a bit.

“What do you mean?” Harry replies, refusing to look Louis in the eye. His voice sounds weak, unconvincing. He fidgets in place, hand running through his hair, a dead giveaway for a nervous tick.

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ Why have you been ignoring me all day?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you all day.” He still can’t meet his eyes.

Louis looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Yes, you have. Every time I try to come near you, your eyes widen like a fucking deer in headlights, and next thing I know, you’re out of sight, and don’t tell me you didn’t see me, because it’s happened like nine times already.”

“I’ve been with Niall all day. He moves a lot!” He clenches his fists and grits his teeth. Harry really doesn’t want to be having this conversation.

“You’re so full of shit.” Louis walks up to him until they’re chest to chest, and Harry’s forced to look at him. “Tell me why you’re fucking avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you, Louis. You’re just making shit up.”

Louis scoffs, taking a step back, and shoots him an incredulous look. “Okay, sure. So you avoiding me has _nothing_ to do with how you fucked me last night and then left while I was sleeping.” His tone’s turned venomous, and Harry can’t help but flinch.

Louis continues, “For a second, when I woke up this morning, I thought it was all a dream, because the Harry I thought I knew wouldn’t run out on me, would he? But you can’t really dream up a fucking sore arse, can you?”

“I’m sorry for running out on you, okay?” he tries.

“Sorry? Wow, I’m glad we’re making progress. At least you’re acknowledging what you’re doing.” He’s sarcastic, biting in his responses. “So tell me this, why did you leave last night, Harry? I don’t get it! I thought — ”

“You thought what?!” Harry finally snaps, fists clenched.

“I didn’t take you for a ‘hit it and quit it’ type. I didn’t think you were one to fucking play games and then leave once you’ve won,” he spits. And Harry hears it. Despite all of Louis’ bravado, he can hear the insecurities that lie beneath, the undercurrent of hurt, the vulnerability… Harry may have snapped, but all of the anger whooshes out of him. Now, all Harry feels is guilt — guilt for leading Louis on, guilt for betraying Niall.

“It’s not like that. I just — ” He falters, voice trailing off.

“You just?” Louis pauses, eyes roaming over his face as though he’s searching for something. “I don’t understand you.” He turns away from him, voice softening. “We were having a great time these past two days, right? I wasn’t just imagining a single moment of it?”

Something in Harry gives away. He doesn’t want Louis to hate him. He just wants to let him down easy. Harry sighs. “Louis, you weren’t imagining it… This weekend has been unforgettable, thanks to you,” he admits quietly.

“Then why are you being like this, Harry?” And then Louis sounds sad, downtrodden. Harry finds himself drowning in guilt again. “I’m sorry if I rushed you into something you didn’t want or something you weren’t ready for. I’m sorry if you hate me — ” He brings his hands to his face, curling into himself.

“Louis, Louis, Lou, please,” Harry says, rushing around Louis and reaching out to gently pull Louis’ hands away from his face. “No, I don’t hate you. I couldn’t ever hate you.”

“Then why, Harry?” He sniffs. “Did I come on too strong? I know it’s crazy to seem this gone for you in such a short amount of time,” he says quickly like he’s not going to get the chance ever again to say this all out loud, “but I don’t know if I’m ever going to see you again, and I just — I don’t want to waste my time playing stupid games when I can tell you point blank that I like you like — really like you.”

Harry’s breath catches, and his heart stutters, heavy in his chest. “God, Louis” is all he can say. He resists every single urge to hold Louis against his chest, to hold him tight and assure away every single worry in Louis’ head. He wants to tell Louis that he feels the same way, but he knows that’s not fair.

Because Harry has Niall, and he’ll never see Louis again after this. Harry will have Niall every day past today, and it’ll be easy for Louis to be nothing but a memory. For the sake of his own sanity, he can’t lose his best friend, he can’t hurt Niall more than he already has by sleeping with Louis. He needs to have the peace of mind to know that he stopped this even if it was after a point of no return.

Niall honestly deserves better.

With this in mind, Harry lets go of Louis’ wrists and puts space in between them, mustering dredges of courage to let Louis down. He doesn’t miss the hurt expression that flashes across Louis’ face, and he imagines that’ll be an image that will haunt him for weeks to come.

“Louis, you’re amazing, you know that? You’re funny, you’re bright, you’re adventurous… you’re everything, honestly,” he begins, the words heavy in his mouth. It feels wrong to hurt Louis like this, wrong to break his heart after he’d been so completely honest and candid with Harry. “It’s just that… this weekend was it, you know? You made my time here so great, and I’m not lying when I said I’d never forget everything we did together, but that’s all that this weekend will be — a memory.”

Harry pauses, letting the words hang in the air. He studies Louis, how he makes himself look smaller, wrapping his arms around himself. To anyone else, it looks like maybe he’s cold, but Harry knows better.

“You’re going to go back to your old life, and I’m going to go back to mine. You’ll be across the world, having the time of your life, and you’ll forget about me, and that’s okay because we have to get back to reality, yeah? I — ” He swallows the growing lump in his throat, as he forces himself to lie. “I thought we’d just have some fun, nothing serious, you know?”

Harry inwardly winces at how cruel he sounds. Sure, he’s being as nice as he can about it, but relegating what they shared to… something only a little more than any other fuck at a festival? He feels awful.

He looks up at Louis and sees the look on his face — it’s unreadable. In all the time that Harry’s known Louis — which, again, isn’t saying much — Louis has been expressive, wearing his heart out on his sleeve, unable to hide his expressions. But now, it’s blank, eyes dulled to grey, the spark that used to light up his features gone.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Harry tells himself.

“You know what, Harry?” Louis says quietly, lips pursed. He speaks slowly, weighing his words, and it’s such a stark difference to the quick-wittedness Harry is used to. “I… get it. I understand. I’m sorry I — ” He lets out a laugh, but it’s shrill in Harry’s ears. “I have to go. I, er, hope you enjoyed the weekend.”

Louis pushes past Harry towards the crowds before Harry can reply.

It hurts more than Harry expected it to.

*

Harry walks back to the cabana, the events of the day tiring him out. He’s out of it and a bit dazed, as he strips out of his clothes and clambers into the shower for the second time of the day. He lets the water run down his body, washing away the grime – not quite the shame though – and he stays there for a while. He lets himself wallow a bit, hoping he can get rid of the cloud above his head before he has to go back out to the crowds and put on a brave face for Niall.

It crosses his mind that Louis could easily tell Liam and Niall what happened. He’s nearly sure that Liam will know of it soon enough, and it’s only a matter of time before Liam will tell Niall. He’s not sure if either Liam or Louis are privy to Niall’s feelings, but if they aren’t, it wouldn’t be farfetched for Liam to talk to Niall out of pure defense for Louis – like a best friend would.

And if Niall finds out through Liam – Harry wipes a hand across his face in exasperation. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Niall confronts him about this before he has a chance to talk to him about it. He’ll probably have to move out, quit his job, move back in with his parents… and maybe he’s exaggerating the situation because it’s all hypothetical and he doesn’t think Niall really would kick him out of their shared flat, but he can’t think of Niall being upset with him.

Harry leans forward, pressing his forehead against the tile, and breathes in and out, letting the water run and run and run until it gets cold.

*

Harry’s on the fringes of the main stage crowd towards the back, the mass of people in front of him haphazardly jumping together as a unit to the thumping speakers, when he’s back from his shower. He doesn’t know how long he’s spent in the cabana, the island plunged into darkness by the time he emerges.

 _We hit turbulence!_ the vocal track blares before dropping the bass, and Harry feels like there's an earthquake. The crowd goes wild, as the DJ up front rips off his shirt and starts jumping around the stage, pumping the audience up even more. He's full of energy and abandon, and Harry’s exhausted just looking at him.

He doesn’t try to locate Niall in the crowd, simply trying to hang back. He hopes he’s had dinner, but he’s not sure if Niall’s already been informed of what’s happened between him and Louis. He’d rather stay out of sight, out of mind for the rest of the night and deal with everything come morning.

Because there’s no other way to say it: Harry feels like absolute shit. He’s sobered up in the shower, refusing to cry over his own misdeeds. He knows both Niall and Louis deserve better – probably deserve each other, even if the thought makes him sick.

The music and lights die down, confused murmurs spreading throughout the crowd and plunging the audience into darkness. And then —

“Ooooh, whoaaaa, oh,” a single voice sings without a melody, “if it all goes wrong.” A light appears on the middle of the stage where the DJ holds two sticks in the air before beating down on an object in front of him — an electronic drum, Harry deduces by the sound.

The vocals play again — “Ooooh, whoaaaa, oh! If it all goes wrong!” — but this time, the crowd sings along, excitement pulsing over them. He can hear some of them get the line wrong, but they pay no mind, bodies nearly still from how they're all concentrated on center stage.

The DJ hits the drums again.

And once more, the vocals kick in, “Ooooh, whoaaaa, oh! If it all goes wrong!” The crowd seems to have caught on more this time.

The melody starts to play, softly at first but building as the vocals and drums continue to alternate. It steadily rises and rises and rises and rises until it comes to an abrupt stop, and a voice sings, “If it all goes wrong, darling, just hold on!”

The light show behind the DJ turns to the full brightness, and a second figure is on stage, previously hidden by the shadows, with a microphone pressed to his lips, as the full melody blares.

It’s Louis. He knows it is.

[(image)](http://i.imgur.com/Y7lWY7v.jpg)M

“Wish that you could build a time machine, so you could see the things no one can see,” he sings. “Feels like you’re standing on the edge, looking at the stars and wishing you were them.”

He's changed out of the clothes he was wearing a few hours ago when Harry last saw him, dressed in a low scoop black tank that reads, “Skate Tough,” fringe messily done. He's wearing skinny jeans, tight enough that Harry can see the outline of his strong thighs, despite his distance away from the stage.

_What do you do when the chapter ends? Do you close the book and never read it again?_

It's not Harry’s first time seeing Louis on stage, but it might as well be with the way Harry’s captivated by the way he moves from one side of the stage to the other, singing to the crowd, unable to stop himself from smiling from that performance high.

It’s just like the first time when Harry was drawn to Louis’ energy, his magnetic stage presence pulling him further and further into the crowd until he finds himself as mindless as the rest of them, caught up in trying to get closer, trying to feel the music, trying to get lost in the atmosphere.

_Where do you go when your story’s done? You can be who you were or who you’ll become._

The crowd singing along is thunderous with their voices, Louis working the crowd alongside the DJ, as they work up to the drop of the song.

Eventually, when the bass does drop, it feels like the island is moving with how everyone jumps in unison. There’s smoke coming out of places on the stage in tandem with the beat, confetti bursting out of other spots. Harry even spots the DJ throwing a cake – _a full sheet cake!_ – at the concertgoers in some type of stage gimmick. It’s full on madness on stage and in the crowd, everyone going wild on this last night, holding onto the last vestiges of this experience.

He’s never seen a place look more alive.

And at the center of the chaos is Louis, who just minutes or hours ago had gotten his heart broken by none other than Harry, who is now beaming up on stage.

Harry doesn’t deserve to see him smile.

*

Harry watches the moonlight dance with the lights from the fireworks on the water. It’s beautiful, he thinks, wishing he had his camera on him to take a picture, but at the same time, his hands don’t feel that itch to take a photo, his mind isn’t whirring to try and imagine the perfect frame, isn’t trying to build the perfect composition of a photo in his mind. He wishes he had his camera on him mostly because he needs something to do with his hands, because he’s restless.

He holds his knees to his chest and wonders how he got here. He can hear the music still steadily going on behind him, probably the final performer closing their set, marking an end to the festival weekend. He doesn’t dare turn around to watch.

This festival was never his experience to begin with; it’s fitting that he excludes himself out of it.

The weekend had started innocent enough. It was meant to be a getaway for him and Niall, another trip between them to make new memories. But then Louis, in all his beauty and glory, stepped in and complicated things. For a brief moment, he both curses and bemoans Louis for being someone plucked straight out of Harry’s deepest fantasies. Then he wonders just how he found such an instantaneous connection with him, how the attraction was there from the very first second. It’s unfathomable that Harry feels whole around Louis with just three days between them, if that.

Harry lays back and looks up at the sky.

The breeze rolls by, and Harry shivers in his place on the sand. Eventually, he notices that the noise has died down into a buzzing – indiscernible conversations of festival attendees leaving the grounds – and the fireworks are no longer going off. There’s a faint smell of gunpowder and smoke in its wake, entwining with the salt of the sea.

What he feels towards Louis sounds a lot like soulmates, and isn’t that a bit scary to think about? But he doesn’t know if his feelings for Louis are rooted in reality or are something conjured out of the picturesque summer getaway – a summer romance set against the backdrop of the tropics. It’s cliché and idyllic, but he’s never known a feeling quite like this.

He lets the night lull him to sleep right there on the beach.

 

*

Harry wakes up with a creak in his back, the rising sun in his eyes, sand in areas it shouldn’t be, and with a heavy heart. The night before comes back to him in flashes, the look of pure dejection on Louis’ face at the center of it all. He tries to shake it out of his head, reminds himself that it was for the best. It’s a new day, and he tells himself that the guilt he feels now over hurting Louis will subside, because it’s only been a weekend — they could not be _that_ attached. (He’ll probably have another internal debate over it in an hour, but for now, he wants to live in denial.)

He knows he has to get up now and pack since their flight is early in the morning, but he’s already looking forward to sleeping on the flight back to London.

He stumbles to his feet, slowly getting up and feeling the contents of his stomach swirl. He takes a few moments to close his eyes and breathe deeply. Once he’s gotten his bearings about, he moves to his cabana sluggishly, dragging his feet and rubbing at his eyes.

Once he reaches the door, he fishes his room key out of his pocket, opening the door quietly, in case Niall is still sleeping. Considering Niall’s been up and awake in the cabana early every single morning they’ve been here, Niall could very much be awake but with it being their departure date, he wouldn’t be surprised if Niall had taken the time to sleep in.

Harry moves through the cabana, tiptoeing and wincing at every creak of the floor. He immediately stops, however, when he hears an unfortunately all too familiar grunt, followed by another all too familiar moan. As his roommate, he’s heard Niall in the middle of sex, knows what Niall sounds like — as much as he _doesn’t_ want to. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but Harry’s thinking of who Niall’s with.

 _Louis_.

He’s imagining tan skin pressed against pale, bodies intertwined and glistening with sweat. He’s imagining the breathy moans he pulled out of Louis just a night ago, wonders if his breath will catch the same way on Niall’s name.

The heaviness in his chest that was there moments ago has given away to a tightness, making it hard for Harry to breathe. He knew he was doing the right thing by letting Louis go. For Niall, he tells himself.

But, at the same time, the vindictive side of him wants to interrupt, wants to see the look on Louis’ face, and remember _that_ face of surprise, instead of the one that’s been haunting him since he’s woken up. They have a flight to catch, he reasons, as he walks up to Niall’s door and raises his fist to the door.

He knocks once and then twice, clears his throat, and says, “Niall, we got a flight to catch.”

If Niall asks, Harry will say he’s trying to be responsible, doesn’t want Niall to pay for another flight. He’s pragmatic.

There’s hushed voices, neither of which he can clearly decipher, and tons of rustling before the door opens to reveal a flushed Niall.

“You couldn’t have waited like five more minutes?” Niall says, shooting Harry daggers.

Harry forces a smile. “Nope.” He tries to look past Niall and into the room where Louis is, but Niall is doing a surprisingly good job of blocking his view for such a scrawny frame.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Can you at least go pack and give me and Zayn a little privacy?”

“Sur — wait, who’s Zayn?” Harry looks owlishly at Niall, blinking.

“I’m Zayn,” a smooth — and vaguely hoarse — voice says from inside the room.

A head pops into Harry’s view right over Niall’s shoulder, while Niall is looking at Harry, bored. The head is pretty is the thing, _very pretty_ , but _not_ Louis by any means. Zayn is black ink with slivers of caramel skin peeking through. He’s ruffled, jet black hair and deep brown eyes. _Not Louis_ is all his mind can focus on.

Harry must be gaping because Niall excuses himself and Harry, pushing him out of the room and into the hallway before closing the door behind them with a click.

“Mind telling me why you decided to interrupt us when you’ve literally never done that before,” Niall asks, idly scratching the hair on his stomach leading into his briefs. Harry decidedly ignores the bulge in his pants. He yawns.

“Er, we’re gonna miss our flight,” he responds, but it comes out more like a question. Harry’s mind is still processing the fact that Niall _isn’t_ sleeping with Louis, that he’s sleeping with a pretty boy named Zayn.

“I can always buy another flight, Haz.” He leans against the door, staring at Harry like he sees right through him, and by the tone of his voice, Harry figures Niall can.

“Yeah but — “

“Okay, does this have anything to do with the fact that Louis looked miserable in the VIP tent last night?” he says, cutting right to the chase. Harry opens his mouth to respond, but Niall continues, “Does this also have to do with the fact that you two obviously shagged and that you avoided him all day yesterday? Haz, what’s been going o — ”

“Why aren’t you sleeping with Louis?” Harry blurts, a rush of words flowing out, making him feel equal parts relieved and embarrassed. The words hang there for a moment, and Harry quickly tries to cover up his mistake. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I just — ”

But Niall’s already deep in laughter, one arm wrapped his middle and another bracing the wall, as he doubles over, cackling. “You — thought — I was — sleeping — with _Louis_?” he wheezes through laughs. “Oh my god, Harry!”

To this, Harry feels indignant, heat rising on his cheeks. “You liked him! You wouldn’t shut up about him!”

“Just because I talked about him a lot doesn’t mean I fancy him. Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, I’m not you,” Niall says matter-of-factly.

“You kept saying he was fit!”

“I thought you would go after him. Liam and I have been trying to set you two up for _months_ ,” Niall admits. He wipes at the corners of his eyes, a stray laugh escaping his lips every few seconds.

“ _What?_ ” Harry screeches.

“Liam showed Louis your picture _ages_ ago and thought you were really fit. You really think this entire trip was as last minute as it was, that your job _coincidentally_ gave you the weekend off?” He brings his hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Haz, I’m _offended_ that you thought I’d be that inconsiderate to your time.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?!” He smacks the back of his hand against Niall’s chest.

It only spurs Niall into another fit of laughter. “Lou didn’t want us telling you. He didn’t want to seem like a creep when he was trying to impress you this entire weekend. Why do you think I always disappeared and always let you hang out with Louis? Why would I bring you here to begin with? I know how much you hate EDM and music festivals. I had to get you here somehow…” He keeps asking rhetorical questions that fit like puzzle pieces in Harry’s head.

Harry fish mouths, opening and closing his mouth stupidly, trying to find the words to say. He’s torn between anger, elation, surprise, sadness, and —

“Oh, _fuck_ , Niall,” he curses, burying his face in his hands. “I fucked up.”

“What do you mean you fucked up?”

“I thought you liked him, and I — I felt guilty enough for sleeping with him! I snuck out after we fucked, Ni.”

“Oh, no…”

“And then I told him that we were just a fling when he tried to confront me yesterday…”

Something changes in Niall, and he’s immediately switched into best friend mode. “Oh, you wanker, you broke his heart, didn’t you? That’s why he was so — Haz, why would you do that? He was so into you!”

“I was trying to be a good friend for you!” he cries.

“Harry, Haz, Hazza.” Niall drags Harry’s head out of his hands and forces Harry to look him in the eye. “You stupid, stupid idiot.”

Niall pulls open the door to the bedroom, where Zayn is sat, now fully dressed, looking at them with a lifted eyebrow.

“Uh, Ni, I’ll head out and text you later. We’ll meet up in London soon, okay?” Zayn says softly, pressing his lips to Niall’s temple.

Niall smiles sadly and reaches out to squeeze Zayn’s hand before Zayn walks out of the room and the cabana.

Niall sits Harry down on the bed, Harry focused on dejectedly looking at the floor.

“I’m a huge fan of Louis’ work as a producer,” Niall starts, folding his hands in his lap. “He’s a great DJ, has done some great collaborations. You know all about the A&R work he’s done for Payne Records.” Harry nods. “I’m gonna take over the family business one day. I admire the guy, but I’ve never once felt anything more for him.”

Turns out, Niall and Liam did plan the weekend for Louis and Harry to meet. While it was true that Niall wanted to come to the festival to meet Louis, it was actually Louis’ casual interest in Harry that had sparked the idea. Louis had been going through a string of bad relationships, guys in the partying circuit who were only concerned with their next fuck or the next batch of drugs they could get their hands on, and Liam wanted to look out for Louis, tired of seeing his best friend’s heart broken time and time again.

And so, Niall and Liam coordinated a time for them to meet: the Fireproof Festival where the air of spontaneity and romantic setting of the beach would set the tone for the beginning of what they had hoped to be a new chapter and new relationship between their best friends.

Louis had been aware of Harry’s attendance at the festival, and Niall had been the one to drop hints to Louis about Harry’s likes and dislikes — which explained how spot-on Louis was in taking Harry around the island.

Altogether, the plan had explained Niall’s sudden absence at integral times when Louis showed up. Harry never noticed it, why Niall had disappeared and didn’t bother bringing Harry along, why Niall was hard to find at best during the weekend, why Niall gave him that puzzled look when Harry opted to hang out with him yesterday.

It’s all so painstakingly clear in hindsight, and Harry vaguely feels as though he wants to drown himself in the ocean for being so oblivious.

With this knowledge and at Niall’s encouragement (“Trust me, he’s gone for you, Haz. He has to hear you out!”), Harry sets out for Louis’ cabana, hoping to fix things.

*

Harry’s able to find Louis’ cabana, retracing his steps from when he snuck out yesterday morning. He knocks on the front door three times and waits a second before knocking three times again with no answer. He repeats this process over and over until, out of his peripherals, he sees a door to his right open, and it shows to be Liam.

“Can I help you?” Liam says sharply.

Harry turns, fist still raised in the air. “Liam, I — I need your help. Where’s Louis?” he asks, running over and looking a bit crazed.

“Why should I tell you?” he spits, looking every bit intimidating. He folds his arms across his chest and puffs up his chest. Gone is the teddy bear with the crinkly smile that Niall once said “couldn’t hurt a fly.” Harry’s convinced _this_ Liam could break him with one hand.

“Because I fucked up,” he says point-blank, taking in a deep breath, “I fucked up really bad. I thought Niall liked Louis this entire time, and I tried to fight my feelings for Louis. But we got drunk, and I wanted him so bad, and then I felt guilty for sleeping with Louis when I thought Niall liked him, so I broke things off, and I found Niall sleeping with Zayn, and it turns out Niall doesn’t like Louis, and I feel so stupid for jumping to conclusions and — “

Liam slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth, muffling the rest of his panicked words. “Wait, hold on,” he says, shaking his head and removing his hand once Harry’s quiet, “you’re telling me that you broke my best mate’s heart because you thought your best mate was interested in him?”

Harry bites his lip and nods, looking at Liam pleadingly. “Please, I know I fucked up, and I need to fix this.”

Liam considers this for a moment, looking hard at Harry and searching for something in his face. He sighs.

Liam finally responds, “He… already left for the airport, Haz,” with a touch of defeat in his tone. He puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, you just missed him.”

 

*

Months have passed, and Harry’s resigned himself to the fact that he fucked up what could’ve been a great thing, but he looks back on his time with nothing but fondness, not wanting to regret the time he had with Louis and not trying to let the ending of it all ruin what was truly a great weekend.

Harry and Niall talked through what happened with Louis after Harry came back to cabana with the news that Louis was already gone. Niall had offered to get him in touch with Louis, but something held Harry back from doing just that. He didn’t want to have to use their mutual friends to talk to Louis again. If they were meant to be – in the way that Harry suspects and so badly hopes for them to be – then they’ll cross paths again, and then (and only then) would Harry make things right.

Niall had relented after much convincing on Harry’s part, not wanting to further meddle in something that was already fragile, if not already broken, to begin with. Instead, they took to talking about the situation, how it had come from a place where Harry felt like he needed to acquiesce to Niall’s every whim and need. Harry was honest with Niall, told him of how he felt inadequate, being unable to return any of the constant favors Niall performs for Harry. He never blamed Niall for his generosity; he just couldn’t help but recognize that he was always putting Niall first for the wrong reasons.

In fact, it ended up being Niall who was adamant that Harry put his foot down more often.

“If I’m being a wanker or I’m somehow stopping you from your own happiness,” Niall had said with a pointed look, “you have to tell me, Haz! And for God’s sake, you don’t always have to say yes to me. This is a friendship, equal opportunity. Just because I’m fortunate enough to be shitting money doesn’t mean there’s an imbalance of favors or love or friendship between us. I do these things because I love you, and I never expect anything but your friendship and love in return.”

And that was that.

For the rest of things, life continues on after he and Niall arrive back in London, both of them experiencing their own bouts of post-festival blues.

At least, for Niall, he was able to walk away from the festival with a new beau in tow, Zayn, who spends all of his spare time at their flat. He’s a great guy for Niall, even though they seem like opposites. Where Niall is all cherubic exuberance, Zayn is muted enthusiasm. They look at each other with wonder in their eyes, and Harry’s honestly happy that Niall has found someone that can level him out and settle him down.

With this new man in Niall’s life, it’s left Harry with more time to himself than he knows to do with.

Harry still works at the coffee shop, but he’s taken charge of the playlists as the resident DJ. He may not be completely attuned to the world of electronic dance music; he still can’t help but add a few songs from the festival if he needs an extra boost at work. (If “Just Hold On” by Steve Aoki plays while he’s making his sixtieth latte of the day and he thinks of bright laughter and crinkled eyes, no one else needs to know.)

In addition to his job, he begins to perform at open mics and local bars, doing small performances of two to three songs. It’s not much, and he doesn’t see himself getting scouted and picked up by a record label anytime soon (discounting all of Niall’s attempts to send in a demo to his own record label) but he does it for himself. Singing in front of Louis and getting that praise was something he didn’t know he really wanted. It was nice to have something to be passionate about again.

In the end though, Harry knows that these new developments in his current life lead back to Louis and his experience at the festival. It’s not like the festival itself was life-changing nor was it the transformative experience it advertised itself to be. It was like any other music festival, just plopped in the middle of the Caribbean for millennial consumption. It was really Louis that made things different.

He’s happier now than he was before the festival, and it’s not that he’s miserable without Louis – he’s just nostalgic towards their time together and is okay with putting it behind him if that’s what ends up happening.

*

Harry is currently sitting on the couch, flipping through shows on Netflix, after a long eight-hour shift at the shop.

Niall barges into their flat – Zayn in tow – and nearly startles Harry off his seat.  He’s gesturing wildly. “Haz! Oh my god, I ran all the way here! There’s something I gotta tell you!”

Harry flicks a glance at Zayn, lifting an eyebrow. “He made you run?” he asks, completely ignoring Niall.

Zayn huffs. “He’s lucky I love him or else I would’ve murdered him.”

“Fair enough.” Harry turns his attention back to Niall who glares at the two of them. “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Steve Aoki is playing a pop up show in SoHo. He had a stopover at Heathrow en route to Germany and has announced a quick show at a warehouse!” Niall announces all in one breath, looking particularly winded if Harry looks closely enough.

It’s what Niall gets for only playing golf and not going on runs with Harry anymore.

“And?” Harry cocks his head, still idly flipping through.

“This is the chance you’ve been waiting for, Haz!” Niall cries, pulling at Harry’s sleeve.

“They ended their collaboration promotions in the U.S. He won’t be there, Ni,” Harry states. It’s true. Despite all of Harry’s attempts to move on with his life, he can’t help but keep tabs on Louis and see if he can force Fate’s hand by having a chance meeting.

“Okay… but what if he is? You would’ve missed him, and you would’ve hated yourself for missing it!” Niall exclaims. He plops himself down on Harry’s lap.

“I’m tired, Ni. I had a long shift today, and I just want to put my feet off and watch Bake Off,” he grumbles, shoving him off his lap.

Niall clambers right back up. “We can just go there quickly, and if he’s not there, you can just head back.”

Harry rolls his eyes and stands up to go to the kitchen to fix himself a snack. Niall follows after him. “I’m not wasting my money to go down to SoHo, Ni. When I know he’s definitely here, then I’ll come out, but I just want to relax tonight.”

“But – “

Harry turns and puts his hands on his hips. “Niall, please?”

Niall sighs and holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, but if Louis ends up showing up, I’m calling your ass and ordering an Uber for you immediately.”

“Deal.”

Niall walks out of the kitchen, and Zayn follows behind, offering a quick salute to Harry. They disappear into Niall’s room.

Harry’s confident Louis isn’t going to show up.

*

“Keys?” Harry pats down his pockets frantically, eyes wide. “Check! Okay, wallet, phone… _Fuck!_ Do I need anything else?” He darts around the flat, tying a quick headscarf around his head.

Just Harry’s fucking luck that Niall had called only ten minutes prior, saying that Liam’s at Steve Aoki’s show, and, according to Liam, Louis is supposed to be going to the show. Harry hasn’t even showered, he looks like a mess, and this isn’t how he was envisioning his first meeting with Louis after the festival. But between heavy traffic heading down to SoHo and the Steve Aoki’s set to be short due to the last-minute nature of the event, Harry doesn’t have enough time to get himself ready before he thinks the show will end.

He takes a quick glance at the mirror, grimaces, but shrugs, knowing it’ll have to do, and hopefully, Louis won’t really care that he looks like a mess.

He rips open the door to head out and –

“Harry?” Louis squeaks, eyes wide, hand raised to knock.

Harry blinks. “Louis?”

“Um, hi? Where are you… going?” Louis turns to look behind him and then turns back to Harry like he’s unsure.

“I’m not hallucinating, am I?” Harry blurts.

Louis laughs loud and bright, and, no, Harry isn’t hallucinating, because not even in Harry’s dreams did he ever hear a sound as beautiful. Louis affirms this with a shake of his head, smiling goofily.

“What – how – what are you doing here, Louis?” Harry stutters, returning his smile.

“Uh, I’m not interrupting anything, am I? We can talk another time if this is inconvenient. You looked like you were in a rush and…”

“Oh, no, no, no, it’s fine!” He clears his throat. “I was… gonna meet up with Niall, actually, at a show…”

“The Steve Aoki show? I thought you didn’t like EDM,” Louis teases.

“I, erm, I don’t. Niall told me that you’d be there…” He blushes, biting down on his bottom lip.

Harry knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed; after all, Louis is the one who showed up on his doorstep.

“Oh,” Louis breathes, looking down and grinning even wider.

“Do you wanna come in?” Harry offers, hopeful.

Louis looks up and nods, and Harry steps aside to let Louis into his space. The older man crosses the threshold and takes in the flat, looking around with thinly-veiled awe.

Louis lets out a low whistle. “How does a barista afford a place like this?”

“He doesn’t. The son of a record label exec does,” Harry replies, closing the door. “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Beer? Tea?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I just want to talk.”

Straight to the point, then.

“I’ll probably make myself a cup of tea if you don’t mind.” When Louis shakes his head no, Harry leads them into the kitchen where he fills up the electric kettle and lets it heat up. He moves to another cupboard and pulls out a bag of tea and then to another cupboard, where he pulls out a mug.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Harry asks, fidgeting with the mug and the teabag in his hands.

“You know, Liam’s really protective of me,” Louis starts. Harry turns and looks at Louis, not entirely sure where the mention of Liam is coming from. “He’s been by my side the entire time. We were mates in uni, roommates our first year. Absolutely hated each other at first.” He chuckles, the nostalgia clear on his face. “But, one day, I’m sitting in the room, singing some lyrics I’ve written, and Liam was this musicology and music production major, right? Proper grooming to take over his dad’s business and all that.

“So he immediately sits down and asks me what I’m doing. Meanwhile, I think Liam’s about to have a proper strop about me singing because, up until that point, he’s been nagging me left and right. But instead, he changes a lyric in a song and asks to see if I have any sheet music around. I still don’t trust him, right? I think he’s taking the piss out of me, trying to seem like he’s superior to me because he’s in all these fancy classes and is born in music. But, then… we spent five hours that night working on music together. He introduced me to his dad a week later.”

There’s a pause, and Harry uses it to ask a question. “Is that how you got signed?”

Louis nods. “Liam said I had an ear for music, could write songs for Payne Records, sing in a few of ‘em too, if I really wanted. Was enough for me to be a songwriter. But Liam’s always been protective of me. I may have been under his record label, but he knows how the industry is, even when we were that young. Liam’s a sharp one, which is why he’s part-best mate and part-manager.”

The kettle goes off, and Harry pours the hot water into the mug, steeping the tea. He places the kettle back down and moves to the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk and adding just a splash of it to his cup. Harry opens up a drawer and takes a teaspoon, stirring his tea. He then returns his attention to Louis, raising his eyebrows to continue.

“He can be suffocating sometimes. He… always thinks he knows what’s best for me, and I don’t blame him since I pretty much trust him with my life. He’s been there through every bad boyfriend, all the ups and downs, but he really can be a protective little shit.” He smiles fondly. “S’why he didn’t think it was important to tell me what happened that morning when I left the island.”

Harry’s mid-sip and promptly chokes on his tea, sputtering the contents onto himself. “Shit!” He quickly places his mug back on the corner. Louis makes a quick move to grab a napkin, already dabbing at his shirt. “Louis, I – “

But Louis barrels on, continuing to wipe at the tea stains on his shirt. “Liam didn’t tell me because he thought you were gonna hurt me again. He said we only really knew each other for a weekend, and it wouldn’t be a big deal for me to get over you. It was a crush I had for a while, I’m sure Niall told you all about that already. But surprise, didn’t exactly get over you.”

Louis takes a small step back, holding the napkin in his hand, and looks shyly up at Harry. Harry looks right back, a small smile on his face.

“You’re not over me?” Harry asks softly.

“No… and when Liam figured that out, he told me. I… found out last week, and I immediately punched him in the arm for it.” Louis laughs. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to come round…”

Harry’s bubbling with excitement, the small smile growing into a Cheshire cat grin, dimples on full display. “Hey, Louis?”

“Yeah?”

Harry takes a large step forward, cupping Louis’ cheeks with his palms before pressing their lips together. He closes his eyes and feels Louis sigh into the kiss. Louis’ hands wrap around Harry’s wrists, not to pull them away, but maybe to anchor himself. That realization makes Harry put more force into the kiss, opening their mouths and licking inside. They end up getting backed up against the kitchen wall, snogging with no intention of moving any further.

A few minutes pass like that until Harry pulls away, panting. “I would’ve waited forever for you, I think,” Harry whispers.


End file.
